


I Get Along Without You

by smithpepper



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 61,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithpepper/pseuds/smithpepper
Summary: Faye listens to Billie Holiday, drinks too much, and searches for what she's lost. Will she find what she's looking for? Post RFB.





	1. Memory

I. Memory

_i get along without you very well_

_of course i do_

It was raining again.

Faye slumped over the bar, long nails tapping idly on the stem of her martini glass. Rain slid down the grimy windows and shadows danced on her porcelain face. Sucking down the last drops of her drink, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. She knew she'd had enough to drink but she lifted a finger when the grizzled bartender caught her eye. Wordlessly, he placed another martini in front of her, and she thanked him with a tight-lipped grimace.

Tharsis was a dump, she thought, but this bar had become her favorite haunt ever since Spike had left. The Bebop had been docked in Tharsis's harbor for six months and neither Faye nor Jet had the heart to suggest leaving. If they left, it meant admitting that Spike was really gone.

Her life had fallen into this strange rhythm. She would sleep past noon every day in a fitful haze of nightmares. In her dreams she was always grasping for something just out of reach and working her way through complicated arguments and forgetting where she'd parked the Redtail and struggling to swim through icy water. Every time she woke up, she found herself gasping and covered in a cold sweat. She would smoke a few cigarettes and take a shower and stand numbly in the hot water until her fingers pruned up. Jet (already up for hours by the time she was dressed) would mumble a greeting to her while he clipped his bonsai and leave her plates of soggy scrambled eggs and reheated ramen on the kitchen counter. After picking apathetically at the food, she would leave the ship and wander through the city, tired and headachy and dusty, until the sun hung heavy in the sky.

Her eyes hungrily scanned every group of people she passed on the streets, in smoky cafes, skulking in alleyways. One afternoon she spotted someone just about the right height wearing a navy suit and felt her heart leap into her throat. When he turned to hail a taxi and she saw the guy's face, it wasn't him and her throat grew painfully tight.

Every evening when Faye grew weary from her hours of wandering, her feet carried her back to the same bar. The bartenders liked her because she was beautiful and quiet, and because she threw around Woolongs like water.

The bar itself wasn't bad. It had weathered wood paneling and peeling paint but it was cozy on rainy nights like tonight, Faye decided. Plus, nobody knew her and nobody asked questions. And, as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she kept returning to the place because Spike had liked this bar. Every time she walked in she imagined him sitting in various seats, wondering what he'd been drinking, who he'd been with. Lifting her gaze to the pool tables across the room, she squinted through the haze of cigarette smoke and pictured a younger Spike (wearing that leather jacket she'd seen a photo of him in) knocking back beers and shooting pool and flirting. Had he come here with Julia? Imagining the two of them together made her stomach churn with jealousy.

Tears prickled her eyes and she dug her nails into her palms. Grieving was exhausting. She didn't want to sit around and cry anymore. How embarrassing would it be if Spike could see her now? Six months later and still a wreck. A tear rolled down her cheek and she angrily dashed it away with the back of her hand, trying to guess what he would have said to her in that moment. Probably something along the lines of, Get a grip, woman. Or would he have been gentle with her, like he was near the end? She finished her fourth martini and dropped the glass on the bar with a clatter.

When Faye's head grew fuzzy and her thoughts swam together after enough alcohol, her mind always picked the same few moments to replay, over and over, until she wanted to crawl out of her skin to escape the sorrow and longing.

_except when soft rains fall and drip from leaves then i recall_

_the thrill of being sheltered in your arms_

_of course i do_

Night had fallen on the Bebop. Outside, the stars glowed fiercely in the Martian sky. Waves slapped against the hull of the ship. Faye lay awake in her cot staring at the ceiling and jonesing for a cigarette so badly that her skin itched. She knew Spike always had a few cartons ferreted away in his room, and that he occasionally went for midnight strolls around the ship, so there was a chance for her to slip into his room and grab a few.

Pulling on a loose white t-shirt and boxer shorts, Faye tiptoed out of her room and down the hallway. Peering through the crack in Spike's doorway, she sighed with relief to see his room empty, the blankets lying flat on his bed. She spotted the carton peeking out from under his pillow and had one leg inside the doorway when she heard footsteps behind her. Cursing to herself, she turned and saw Spike standing in front of her, looking bemused.

"And just what the hell do you think you're doing in my room?" he asked, eyebrows raised to his hairline. He wore only a pair of threadbare training pants and his bare chest glowed white in the starlight.

Faye shot him the fiercest glare she could muster.

"I'm trying to get MY cigarettes back, since you stole them from me earlier."

Spike exhaled irritably. "You think I didn't notice that you bought them with Woolongs stolen off of my money card?" He rolled his eyes. "You really are shameless."

Shit. She didn't think he'd noticed that. "Well, it was probably money that you owed me from the last bounty anyway," she replied lamely.

It wasn't true and they both knew it, but they seemed to have reached a standstill. Spike rubbed a hand distractedly across his forehead. There were dark, tender-looking shadows under his eyes, and his evergreen hair was even more disheveled than usual.

Unbidden, the urge to run her fingers through his hair rose up inside of her and she reached out her hand without thinking.

"Uh, Faye?" he asked, his voice softer.

"Huh?"

"What are you doing?"

Faye realized her hand was floating in front of her.

"I...you've...um...got something in your hair," she muttered, cheeks flushing.

He frowned. "Hmm. Probably a bit of dog food. I just had a snack," he said. "Not too bad, really...but can you get it out?" He tilted his head towards her.

Faye gently touched her fingers to his forehead, peered into his wild tangles. His body radiated warmth and she was suddenly aware of his smell of smoke and sweat and something musky and sweet. She could feel her pulse beating in her throat and swallowed hard, willing her body to relax.

"Cloves," she murmured to herself, delicately tracing the skin of his scalp. Spike shivered almost imperceptibly as she ran her fingers through his tangles. "One second...ok, got it." She pretended to pull something out of his hair and took a step back, looking away from his mismatched auburn eyes.

"Thanks. What'd you say before that?" he asked, his voice oddly husky.

"Oh, um..anyone ever tell you that you smell like cloves?" She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. He gazed at her evenly, calm in the face of her discomfort.

"Actually, yeah...I've gotten that before...not sure what it is," he said, leaning against the wall. "Hey, Faye, sorry, but I'm pretty tired. You can go ahead and have that pack of cigarettes if you're so desperate."

He ducked into his room and handed her the carton. Pausing in the doorway, he looked as if he were about to say something, but then he leaned close to her and gave her a quick, scratchy kiss on the cheek.

"Don't tell Jet about this," he said quietly. "Night, Romani."

He closed the door. Faye stayed rooted to the same spot in the hallway for several moments. She touched her cheek where he had kissed her, transfixed.

_but i get along without you very well_

Faye shook herself out of her reverie. The rain pattered on the bar's metal roof as the sky grew darker. She felt the bartender's eyes lingering on her but she didn't care.

Pulling her tan trench coat around her middle and smoothing her hair, she sighed and cast a mournful gaze at her empty glass, wishing for more vodka. She tried to make it back to the Bebop before too late every night because Jet worried about her when she was out. She knew he could smell the liquor on her breath every night but, to his credit, he never said a word. Besides, Faye had spotted more than a few bottles of whiskey in the bonsai room recently.

Focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, she painstakingly made her way out of the bar without stumbling and struck out in the general direction of the bay. The rain had slowed to a faint drizzle and the breeze smelled like the ocean. A few planets twinkled down on her between the clouds as she walked.

Where did people go when they died? The stars, as she knew, were filled with criminals and casinos and lonely bounty hunters. But could a soul truly vanish from the universe? She didn't want to live in a world without Spike.

There's no way he's alive, Faye told herself for the thousandth time. It was all over the news. Huge syndicate battle. Only a handful of survivors, dozens of unclaimed bodies. Although Jet had tried to conceal it from Faye, she knew that he had secretly visited every morgue in the city in an unsuccessful attempt to ID Spike.

When the names of the dead were officially announced, Faye sat glued to the television, watching the names scrolling past on the ticker, completely still and numb. But when the segment ended and she didn't see his name, a small balloon of hope swelled inside of her. It was possible. He could be out there somewhere.

She walked on, relishing the cool air against her flushed skin. Maybe tonight she would sleep soundly and without any nightmares, and maybe she would wake up tomorrow with the desire to do something, anything, again.


	2. Songbirds on Mars

II. Songbirds on Mars

_i've forgotten you just like i should_

_of course i have_

When Spike woke up, he wanted Faye.

Did she rescue him again? Was he back on the Bebop, safely bandaged, basking in Faye's emerald gaze? Would she stroke his feverish face with her cool, soft hands? Did he hear her humming out of tune, faintly?

Gradually, he realized that he was only hearing the whirr of a machine. Every bone and muscle in his body ached. His eyes felt like they were full of gritty sand. He was aware of a rough plastic tube stuck in his mouth, forcing his lungs to expand and contract with robotic hisses of air.

Trying to lift his arms, he realized that his wrists were bound to the iron bed frame with strips of fabric. Someone had dressed him in a grimy yellow hospital gown. Squinting, he saw that his lower body was covered with a thick gray blanket. When he tried to wiggle his toes, he couldn't feel a thing, but he saw a pathetic little rustle at the end of the bed.

Well, shit. So much for going out in a blaze of glory. He was in pretty bad shape, but decidedly alive.

First things first: he had to get this tube out of his mouth. After a moment of struggling, he managed to wrench one hand free from its cloth restraint. He clawed at his mouth, grabbed hold of the tube and pulled. Gagging, he yanked it out of his esophagus and flung it away. Spike gasped and coughed painfully, his lungs feeling exhausted and ineffective. How long had he been on that thing? He struggled to sit up, swinging his numb legs over the side of the bed onto the rough wood floor.

The ventilator's alarm shrieked incessantly. Spike glanced around, taking in his surroundings as he massaged his wrists. He was in a dingy little room with nothing in it besides the bed, a small pile of clothes on the floor, and a cart filled with medical supplies. There were two closed doors and a small window near the ceiling. Watery blue light filtered in and dripped down the white walls. He guessed it was early evening, but he had no clue where he was.

The door flew open with a bang and a man rushed in. Spike froze, heart thumping wildly. He didn't trust his legs to hold him yet.

"Good lord, did you pull the breathing tube out? Can you breathe?" the man cried, punching buttons on the ventilator to silence its beeping.

Spike tried to speak and emitted only a gravelly rasp. Coughing, he nodded and stared at the stranger. He was a small man, stooped over and graying with a pinched, worried face. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

Spike cleared his throat. "Who are you? Where am I?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

The man peered at him closely. His intelligent, beady eyes reminded Spike of an inquisitive rodent, like a rat or a weasel. "My name is Mateo. You're in Tharsis City. I'm a doctor and you were brought here by the surviving members of the Red Dragon syndicate."

Spike tried moving his legs again. A million pins and needles shot through them and he winced, gingerly rotating his ankles and testing his weight on the ground. "How long have I been here? Does anyone know I'm here?"

Mateo grimaced. "Hmm...it's been...well, as of today, exactly 27 days. The syndicate knows you're here, but apart from them, I doubt anyone knows you're alive. To be honest, I'm surprised you survived. Your wounds are all healing nicely, though."

Almost a month, Spike thought. Holy shit. He started to get to his feet and felt his knees buckle beneath him. Mateo caught him by the upper arms with a surprisingly strong grip and eased him back onto the bed.

"Whoa. Take it easy. You need to rest before you do anything. The syndicate will want to speak with you soon, I'm sure."

Spike felt panic rising in his chest. Images of Julia and Vicious, dreadfully pale and cold, flashed across his mind. Were they really dead? Was he dreaming all of this?

"I have to get out of here."

Mateo shook his head. "If I let you leave now, you won't make it far. You're still quite weak."

Spike's brain felt slow and muddled. He fought down a wave of nausea, trying to think clearly. He rubbed his forehead, frowning. His eyelids felt heavy and his thoughts swam together. Mateo had turned to the cart full of medical supplies and clattered around filling a syringe with a cloudy liquid. Spike watched apprehensively as the doctor approached the bed with a rather formidable needle in his gloved hands.

"Here, let me give you this. Helps with the nausea," Mateo muttered, flicking the tip of the syringe with a finger. Spike opened his mouth in protest but he felt too befuddled to form any arguments. He winced as the doctor plunged the syringe into his bicep. Almost immediately, a leaden wave of fatigue rolled over him. He sank back into the pillows and was asleep again in a moment.

***

When the drugs wore off, Spike opened his eyes to darkness. Eyes adjusting, he noticed Mateo slumped in a chair by the door, snoring lightly. Something about the quality of the darkness made Spike suspect that it was just before dawn, and as he rubbed his tired eyes and stretched he heard a chorus of little birds begin to chatter.

Had there always been songbirds on Mars? He couldn't remember ever hearing them before. Maybe he was hallucinating.

Spike wanted to leave this place. He didn't want to feel that crazy drugged stupor again. Glancing around the room, he wondered how quietly he could escape in order to avoid rousing Mateo.

As if the man read his mind, Mateo jerked awake with a loud snore and stared at Spike.

"Ah, you're awake. Sleep well?" he asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hairy knuckles.

"I guess I did," Spike said, his voice raspy, "but I don't want you to give me anything else. That shit knocked me out."

Mateo chuckled lightly. "Lucky you." He rose from the wooden chair and stretched. "Hmmm. Now that you're awake, a few orders of business. Is there anyone you'd like me to contact for you?"

Spike frowned and rubbed his forehead.

"I'm not sure. Give me a minute."

Mateo nodded. "By the way, I knew Julia, too. I'm very sorry about what happened," he sighed. "A lovely woman. You two were...involved, weren't you?" he asked delicately, shooting a furtive glance at Spike.

Spike glared at Mateo, his stomach twisting with anger. Who was this guy, anyways? What was his connection with the syndicate?

"Sorry, Doctor, but that's none of your business."

Mateo raised his hands in apology, looking chagrined. "Ah...excuse me. Of course."

Spike looked at the ground. "Forget it. So did you know Vicious too?"

A shadow crossed Mateo's pointed face. "Yes. He's gone. The Red Dragons will never be the same...who knows where they'll go from here."

Spike had more questions, but he felt too tired to ask them. The two men sat in silence for a moment.

"You really should rest, Spike," Mateo said. "God, I still can't believe you just pulled the tube out like that. You're lucky you didn't suffocate. Well, anyways...are you hungry?"

Spike nodded, lying. Somehow, he didn't feel particularly hungry or thirsty at the moment, but he wanted Mateo to leave.

"Well, hang on a minute. I'll go down the street and grab you something. And please, don't try to run off the minute I leave. Oh, and there's a bathroom in here," Mateo said, opening the other door to reveal a tiled bathroom with a shower. "Figured you might want to use it while I'm out."

The doctor left the room and closed the door behind him. Spike waited until he heard his footsteps disappear, then got to his feet, legs trembling in protest.

He spotted his gun lying on top of a pile of folded clothes in the corner next to the bathroom door and picked it up. It was fully loaded and cleaned, and he wondered if Mateo was responsible.

Spike limped into the bathroom and pulled off the soiled hospital gown. He gasped as he caught a sight of himself in the mirror over the sink.

An angry gash stretched across his stomach and ribcage, and he was so thin that his bones jutted out beneath his skin. His green hair was snarled and his face looked pale and haunted. Grimacing, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on full blast, cranking the nozzle until the water was scalding.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall for a long time. He let the water pound his skin until it felt raw and clean. Someone, presumably Mateo, had left him a toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as some little hotel bottles of soap and shampoo, and Spike used all of these things gratefully.

As he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, carefully avoiding his injuries, Spike's thoughts returned to Faye. He sat on the bed, absentmindedly running a hand through his damp hair. Was she looking for him? Was she with Jet? Did they think he was dead? Did they even care?

The last words he had said to Faye were awful. "I'm going to find out if I'm really alive," he'd told her. Cringing, he remembered her face crumpling into bitter tears as he walked away. How could he leave her like that?

He should have kissed her then. When he told her to look at his eyes. Her startled face so close to his, and him losing his nerve at the last second. Spike screwed his eyes shut and pictured her face. He wanted to hold her in his arms, lie in bed with her, run his hands over her skin. He imagined burying his face in her soft neck, pressing his hips against hers...

Shit. What was wrong with him, thinking about Faye right after losing Julia?

Spike exhaled violently and got to his feet, discarding the towel on the floor. If he was going to be honest with himself, Julia had been lost to him long before she left this world. He'd known it since the day she left him waiting in the graveyard.

And he liked Faye from the moment he saw her. That wildcat sass. Spike smiled wryly, imagining the earful she'd give him once she knew he was alive.

_except to hear your name_

_or someone's laugh that is the same_

_but i've forgotten you just like i should_

***

Spike dressed himself in the clothes left for him in the corner, pulling on a faded green sweater, black jeans, and a navy blue windbreaker. The clothes hung loosely on his lanky frame, but they were comfortable enough, and more importantly, inconspicuous. He stuck his Jericho into the waistband of his pants and stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He looked sickly, but at least he wouldn't stick out in a crowd.

The room had grown lighter. It was time to leave, before Mateo returned. The old doctor had certainly taken good care of him, but if he was connected to the Red Dragons, Spike wanted nothing more to do with him. Let them search for him, he decided. He didn't care. He needed to find the Bebop. His old life was dead and gone, finally, never to haunt him again.

Spike opened the door and slipped into the chilly Martian morning. The street was deserted and he breathed in the ocean air with great satisfaction, turning his face to the early sky.

He had to admit that it felt pretty good to be alive. But damn, did he ever want a cigarette.


	3. Stormy Weather

III. Stormy Weather

_what a guy_

_what a fool was i_

_to think my breaking heart could kid the moon_

About seven months after Spike left, Faye started to wonder if she was losing her mind.

She never woke up feeling good these days, but this particular morning was exceptionally nasty. Even before she opened her eyes, her head throbbed and her stomach rumbled ominously. Weak yellow sunlight filtered in through her bedroom's blinds and she pulled the sheets over her face, groaning. She mentally tallied up last night's drinks and winced. Apparently seven glasses of vodka didn't make you spring out of bed the next morning. Who knew?

Faye pulled on her bathrobe and stumbled into the Bebop's kitchen, hunting for coffee. Jet stood at the stove, poking at something brown and unappealing in the frying pan with a spatula.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Jet grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Mmm," Faye replied, pouring herself a mug of coffee. The lights in the kitchen made her eyes hurt.

"Bad hangover, huh?" Jet asked, grimacing at the brown sludge as he turned off the boiler and dumped it onto a plate.

Faye didn't reply to that. Walking into the living room, she slumped onto the yellow couch, clutching her mug of coffee and taking tiny sips. Jet followed her with his plate of whatever it was and sat down on the stairs across from her. He cleared his throat, looking awkward.

"Listen, Faye, there's a bounty on Venus I want us to get. The reward is forty thousand Woolongs. I know it's been hard, but...we really need the dough."

Faye was silent.

"I know you haven't exactly...been in the mood. I haven't, either, but this ship doesn't take care of itself." Jet ran his mechanical hand over his bald head. "There's quite a few repairs the Bebop needs, and we could get our hands on some better food."

Whether it was due to exceptionally bad luck or just their own lack of motivation, the pair had not caught a single bounty head since Spike flew the coop. Faye refused to go on any missions outside of Tharsis City, and while Jet would occasionally take the Hammerhead and vanish for a few days, he always returned broke and in a stormy mood. Faye knew it was partially her fault for refusing to help, but she was stubborn.

She stared into her coffee. "Look, I just...I don't think I can do it yet. Just give me a little more time. Then I'll come with you on whatever comes up. I promise."

"That's what you said the last time I asked you. And the time before that," Jet said, his tone clipped. He stood up and scraped his plate of untouched food into the trash can, looking disgusted.

"I know that. And I'm sorry. But I just - " Faye looked at the ceiling fan, trying to keep her temper in check - "I can't give up yet. Don't you want to keep looking for him?"

"You think I haven't tried?" Jet asked incredulously. "You think I haven't looked in every square inch of this damn city?" he continued, his voice growing angry. "Shit, Faye, you weren't the only one who cared about him."

" I didn't say that - " Faye began, placing her coffee on the table and running a hand through her hair. "You know what I meant was - "

"I knew him longer than you did, you know?" Jet interrupted. "I knew him for years before you were in the picture. And he made a choice to leave. Nobody made him do what he did. Nobody was forcing him to go get himself killed - "

Faye stood up abruptly, digging her nails into her palms.

"You don't know that. We don't know if he's dead," she said, her voice shaking.

"Damn it, Faye. Be realistic. How long are you going to keep pretending he's out there? It's been...what, six months?" he spat.

"Seven," she shot back, feeling the corners of her mouth pull downwards. Damn it, she didn't want to start crying.

Jet looked at her with something suspiciously close to pity in his eyes. The waves slapped monotonously against the hull.

***

Faye set off on her usual afternoon walk through the city. It was a muggy day, overcast with thunder rumbling in the distance. She felt that particular brand of late afternoon hopelessness as she trudged down the dingy streets, feeling sweaty and irritable. She usually tried to hold off on the drinking until after sunset, but today might have to be an exception. The argument with Jet that morning had worn her out. Back to the bar, then, she thought, turning down an alleyway to head in the right direction.

As Faye walked, she felt someone watching her from the shadows. She glanced quickly around her. There were little clumps of people smoking under the faded awnings, old men playing chess on the sidewalk, raggedy-looking kids laughing as they threw pebbles into the gutter, and tired businessmen in rumpled suits headed home for the evening. The cloudy sky grew darker and neon signs flickered into life on the storefronts, advertising cigarettes and liquor and dumplings and sex.

Faye didn't see anyone unusual, but she couldn't shake the crawling sensation of being followed. Uneasily, she walked on, patting her jacket pocket to ensure that her Glock was still safely tucked away.

She turned the corner and walked onto a deserted side street. She was only a few blocks from the bar now and quickened her pace. Was she imagining footsteps behind her? No, maybe that was only her boots clacking against the cement, echoing down the narrow street.

She walked on until she was about to jump out of her skin with nerves. This time, she was certain she heard someone right behind her.

Faye stopped suddenly and fumbled in her pocket for a moment. She pulled out her Glock and held it steadily in front of her.

"Whoever's following me, I know you're there, so we might as well get this over with," she said loudly, trying to sound braver than she felt. This was a sketchy neighborhood and she didn't really feel like fending off a mugger at the moment. It wouldn't be the first time.

The street remained empty. Voluptuous thunderheads were building up in the sky and the air was heavy with the smell of rain. A pimply young waiter poked his head out of a dim sum restaurant, looking concerned. The gentle hum of people chattering and utensils clicking against plates wafted into the street.

"Uh...lady, do you need help?" he asked, pulling at his apron strings nervously. "You're kinda scaring the customers," he told her, looking abashed.

Faye looked at him vaguely, lowering the gun.

"What? Oh...no, I just...I thought I heard someone coming. Don't worry about it. I'll just...get going, then," she murmured, pocketing the Glock. The waiter gave her an uncomfortable smile and went back inside, closing the door with a thump.

Faye started off again, feeling more and more confused with every step. She was losing it, wasn't she? Or did she just really need a drink?

When she finally reached the bar's weathered wooden door, she gave the street a final once over before heading inside. And then she saw Spike.

It was him, pale and drawn, wide eyed in the shadows, about five hundred feet down the street from her. The same thin face, the same unmistakable head of tousled hair, the same long limbs and glittering dark eyes. He looked skinny as a rail and he was wearing unfamiliar clothing, but it was undeniably him. When he saw her, his mouth opened in surprise and he quickly turned and walked hurriedly in the opposite direction.

A jolt of adrenaline rocketed through Faye's body. Her mind was filled with a deafening buzzing. She heard her pulse rushing in her ears as she tried to call out to him. A wordless cry escaped her lips, and she started to run, boots slapping against the sidewalk. The air crackled with electricity around her.

"Spike! Wait!"

She ran a few more blocks, but he had vanished. Her sides burned and her lungs wheezed painfully, and she stopped on a dark corner to lean on her knees and massage the knife in her ribs. It started to rain, fat droplets dotting the sidewalk.

What the hell?

She was prepared to bet millions of Woolongs that it had been him and not just some lookalike. But why would he run away from her?

***

Faye half-ran, half-walked back to the Bebop as fast as her tired legs would allow. The harbor lights glowed through the sheets of rain across the black water. She reached the Bebop and sprinted noisily across the dock to reach the ship, throwing open the door with a clatter.

Jet, dozing on the couch, jolted awake as the entry hatch swung open. He gaped up at her as she clambered in. Completely out of breath and soaking wet, Faye panted and leaned against the wall, trying to gather her thoughts.

"What happened to you?" Jet asked, startled.

"Jet...I saw...I saw Spike. Right on the corner of 13th and Tharsis Way. Just now."

Jet stared at her, hands frozen in the act of reaching for a beer on the table. Faye wiped the sweat out of her face, taking deep breaths to steady herself.

"Are you drunk?" Jet asked quietly.

"No!" Faye shouted. "I'm not! It was him, Jet! I swear to God!"

"And what did he say to you?" Jet asked.

"Uh," Faye paused, aware of how this would sound coming out of her mouth, "he saw me and he...he walked away. I think maybe he wanted me to follow him! But I didn't get there in time. I went after him but I didn't see anyone," she finished, twisting the hem of her shirt in her hands and wringing out the rainwater.

"You looked at him and he ran away," Jet repeated, frowning. Faye bit her lip.

"No! I mean, he walked away, but..." Faye trailed off.

Jet got up from the couch and walked over to her. He put the back of his large hand on her forehead, as if to check for a fever. Faye recoiled, seething.

"Fuck, Jet, I'm not hallucinating! Is that what you think?" she snapped.

Jet backed away and shrugged. "I don't know, but it seems more likely that Spike suddenly returning from the dead," he said.

"How many times do I have to tell you? Listen to me," Faye shrieked. She felt like laughing and crying. "He's not dead! I just fucking saw him walking down the street! He's not dead! He's right here in Tharsis City, just like I said the whole time! We have to find him!"

She was crying now but she didn't care. She slid down the wall and sat on the floor of the hallway, tears dripping down the tip of her pointed nose.

Jet looked down at her on the floor. "You've been drinking too much, Faye," he said, his voice bitter.

Faye kicked the wall in frustration. "That's not it. I'm as sober as you can be right now. I know what I saw!"

Jet sighed heavily and walked away.

"He's alive, Jet, and I think he wants us to find him!" she shouted at his retreating back. She heard him slam the door of the bonsai room.

She would rent a room downtown, she decided. The harbor was too far of a walk from the city center; almost forty five minutes one way. If Spike was hanging around downtown, then she would too. Faye got to her feet stiffly and walked to the closed door that led to Jet's bonsai room.

Faye knocked and heard silence. "Jet."

No reply. She pressed onwards. "I'm going to find Spike. I know you don't believe me. I'm gonna rent a room downtown for a few days and see if he turns up again. I'll transfer you some money for my room and board while I'm gone."

She waited until she heard a faint grunt of acknowledgment and headed back to her room. Throwing a towel over her sopping hair, she peeled off her wet clothes and changed into a pair of black leggings and a soft blue tank top. She gathered up her pajamas, a jacket, a few face masks, and a couple of paperbacks to bring with her and dumped everything in a plastic bag that had once held Chinese takeout. Slinging it over her shoulder and pocketing her gun once more, she took a deep breath and walked into the night once more.

She wasn't crazy, was she? Faye tried to calm herself as she walked downtown, keeping her eyes peeled for any hotel vacancy signs. She couldn't deny that she was starting to worry. The look on Jet's face was frightening. But she knew what she saw. Spike was alive and she had seen him less than an hour ago.

Maybe the cryogenics had frozen some part of her brain that was just now thawing out. If she really was going nuts, would she know? Oh well, she figured, might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

_what's in store_

_shall i fall once more_


	4. Ships In The Night

IV. Ships In The Night

Spike had always pegged himself as the type of guy who would enjoy long stretches of solitude. He'd spent the majority of his adult life living in close quarters with...well, he wasn't sure if he'd call them his friends, but certainly his...comrades, he supposed. Before the Bebop, it had been Vicious and Julia and the syndicate, and before that, Annie and Mao and the various people filtering in and out at all times.

Spike used to fantasize about spending a few months alone. Almost like a vacation, you know? Nobody barking orders at him or complaining about Woolongs, no kids running around underfoot, no animals to feed, and most of all, no women nagging him constantly. Just him, a pack of smokes, and plenty of time to read, exercise, and sleep.

Turns out being alone was really goddamn boring. And desperately, painfully lonely.

***

After slipping away from the old doctor Mateo, Spike hightailed it into the heart of Tharsis, collar upturned and head down, lungs wheezing and body protesting every step he took. He walked several miles until he noticed a dilapidated coffee shop down a dingy alleyway with a "HELP NEEDED" sign taped inside the cracked window. Glancing around, he rang the buzzer and crossed his fingers.

A stout little man covered in Venusian tribal tattoos came to the door and stared him up and down. His skin had the ruddy flush of a seasoned alcoholic and he reeked of whiskey. Spike quickly scanned his tattoos for anything Red Dragon-related and was relieved to see nothing of the sort.

"Whaddya want, kid?"

Spike cleared his throat, voice raspy from disuse.

"Yo. I'm looking for a job and you're hiring. Wanna talk?"

The man squinted at Spike, bulbous green eyes narrowing distrustfully.

"The fuck you wanna work here for? This place is a dump. How do I know you're not gonna rob me or some shit?" The man wiped greasy hands on his stained chef's apron.

Spike chuckled. "I promise I'm not gonna try anything. Trust me, I wouldn't be asking if I didn't really need the dough."

"Huh. Well, I can't pay you much. You'd just be washing dishes and shit, nothing glamorous."

"That's fine. How much are we talking?"

The man tallied up something on his stubby fingers, eyes cast skyward.

"How's...two hundred Woolongs a week?"

Spike almost laughed out loud before he realized that the man was watching him earnestly, waiting for a reply. Yikes. Well, beggars can't be choosers, he thought.

"Why not. It's a deal," he told the man. "And do you know of any places that might rent me a room around here?"

Spike's stout companion regarded him with those bulging eyes.

"Tell ya what. Let's make it one fifty a week and I'll let you stay upstairs for free. It ain't too pretty but it's four walls and a roof."

Eh, what the hell. It wasn't like he had much of a choice.

"You got it. What's your name?" Spike asked, extending a hand.

The man shook it vigorously, his palm sweaty. "Call me Chuck. Pleased to meetcha. And you?"

Spike deliberated for a moment. "Bruce. I appreciate it, man."

"Well, wanna come see your new digs? You don't got no suitcases or shit?" Chuck started inside and motioned for Spike to follow.

"Nah, I travel light," Spike told him as they walked through the dirty cafe and up a narrow wooden staircase. The three flights of stairs left Spike completely winded, and he clutched the knife in his side, gasping, as they reached the fourth floor. Chuck stared at him, wincing apologetically.

"You all right, my man?"

Spike nodded wordlessly, lungs wheezing like a harmonica. He wasn't used to his body betraying him like this. He would have to take it slow.

"Anyways, like I said, it ain't much," Chuck called over his shoulder as he opened the bedroom door.

The room had a relatively clean looking mattress in the middle of the floor, a card table with two rickety chairs, and a door leading to a tiny bathroom. Boy, he sure was living in luxury these days, he thought, clenching his side as he caught his breath. The room smelled faintly of mildewy laundry and furniture polish.

Chuck crossed the bedroom floor, wood creaking under his considerable heft.

"But here's the good news. You got a pretty nice view from this side of the building.

Chuck opened the canvas blinds, revealing a surprisingly large window that overlooked all of Tharsis City's skyline. The ocean sparkled on the horizon, and Spike could just barely make out the harbor in the distance, the ships glistening in the sunshine like tiny colorful toys from this height. Was the Bebop docked out in the bay right now, with Faye and Jet on it? What if Faye had taken off alone again?

Chuck watched him earnestly, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"Not too shabby, eh? Makes up for the roaches," he said appreciatively. "I live down the street and I got the view too. Only reason I bought this place."

Spike swallowed, turning to face Chuck again. He tried to clear the worry from his face.

"It's great. The view's really something. So when do I start work?"

"Ah, let's say tomorrow around noon. We never get any friggin' customers anyways, so don't sweat it. Come downstairs around eleven and we'll find something for you to do."

"Works for me."

Chuck turned to leave. "Okay, Bruce, see you tomorrow. You better not fuckin' rob me, you hear?"

"Hell no. You've done me a huge favor. Besides, I'm not that kind of guy."

Chuck raised his eyebrows. "I'm sure you've got a story, but I'm cool not knowing it if you're cool not asking me any questions, capeesh?"

Man. He had really lucked out with this dude. "Capeesh," Spike replied.

Chuck grinned and left the room, closing the wooden door with a slam. Spike threw the window open to let some ocean air into the room, then collapsed onto the sagging mattress and pulled the scratchy woolen blanket over his exhausted body.

He estimated that only about three hours had passed since leaving Mateo's place, but every cell in his body felt utterly fatigued. Sleep threatened to overtake him almost immediately, eyes growing heavy as he lay under the blanket, fully dressed but shivering a little.

As he drowsed, several ideas chased themselves around his brain, nipping at the others' heels. First of all: how quickly could he find the Bebop? Was it safe for him to be out and about in the city? What had become of the Red Dragons? Were they hunting for him? More importantly, would they go after Jet and Faye too?

His thoughts turned to Julia, but it was too painful to dwell on the memory of her pale face, the warmth leaving her body on the desolate rooftop, her golden hair soaking up the frigid rain. Spike knew he would have to think about it at some point, but he pushed it away for now. She was dead, and there was nothing he could do for her anymore.

But Jet and Faye were alive. Hopefully, at least. Spike wondered if they even wanted him back. He couldn't help but feel that if he had really been out for a month, like Mateo had said, that they would have found him by now.

What if they were happier with him gone?

Spike gradually drifted into an uneasy slumber, pale afternoon light casting shadows on his thin face.

***

Every day became the same routine, over and over and over. Spike would wake up late, around eleven, and lie on the mattress smoking and deliberating whether it was time to head towards the Bebop. And every day he chickened out. Nobody from the syndicate had come knocking, but he couldn't be sure that someone wouldn't start following him the minute he struck out for the Bebop. If he led the syndicate thugs straight to Jet and Faye, he could never forgive himself.

Spike would saunter downstairs to the cafe sometime around noon, where Chuck would be watching boxing matches on the television and swabbing out mugs with a worn out rag. They rarely had customers, but when someone wandered in every once in a while Chuck would make espressos for everyone and Spike would do the dishes.

Chuck's cooking was admittedly quite a bit better than Jet's had been, and Spike's skeletal frame began to look healthier on a steady diet of Chuck's grilled cheese sandwiches and greasy curries. The two men usually ate in silence, and Chuck didn't care to socialize much, always leaving the minute the clock hit five. Spike didn't mind, as he wasn't in the mood to reveal any personal information, but he had to admit that he was getting pretty starved for conversation. Chuck was a nice enough guy, but as far as friends went, he was a poor substitute for Jet.

***

Every so often Chuck would sell a customer a little baggie of something powdered out of his apron pocket. Spike knew better than to ask. Whatever Chuck was dealing, Spike figured it wasn't any of his business. For the most part the customers looked like run-of-the-mill junkies, and who was he to judge Chuck for making an extra buck here and there? Spike didn't recognize any of the buyers as syndicate guys, but every time they came into the cafe Spike would retreat upstairs for a while.

"You're kind of a nervous guy, ain't ya, Bruce?" Chuck asked him one day as Spike stood washing a filthy pan at the sink.

"I don't know about that," Spike replied, squeezing the last dregs of dish soap into the caked-on sludge. "Just trying to mind my own business."

"I always see you looking over your shoulder like something's sneakin' up on your ass," Chuck said. He pulled one of his tiny baggies out of his apron pocket and held it up to the light, frowning. "You get into some trouble in the past? Someone looking for you?"

Spike sighed. "Nah, I'm a pretty boring guy. What about you?"

Chuck smirked. "You know me, Bruce, just trying to make an honest living here." He dipped his finger into the baggie and licked powder off of it, pulling a hideous face. "Hey, that's some good shit! You want some, Mr. Boring Bruce?"

Spike did not. "No thanks. All you, buddy."

"Egh, you're a buzzkill. Well, can you close up tonight? See you tomorrow," Chuck replied, grabbing his coat and leaving even though it was only two in the afternoon.

***

Months passed. Every night he lay awake, tossing and turning and arguing with himself about whether it was safe to look for Jet and Faye. Julia's frozen eyes flashed across his mind every time he tried to sleep. He assumed she would haunt him like this forever, which seemed a fair price to pay for how much he'd fucked her life up.

And yet try as he might, he couldn't stop thinking about Faye. All he wanted was to see her. As he went through his mindless days, he pictured her sitting on the Bebop's couch in her little bathrobe, smoking, painting her nails, and playing cards with Jet. Hell, he even missed fighting with her. To help himself fall asleep, Spike replayed the times he had woken up bandaged on the Bebop with Faye hovering near him, humming tunelessly, gently stroking his face with those cool fingers while she thought he was still sleeping. He longed for her touch.

Every night he decided that tomorrow would be the day he struck out and found his shipmates. But every morning he lost his resolve all over again at the thought of inadvertently placing them in danger. Spike knew Jet could fend for himself, but if anything happened to Faye, he wouldn't have any reason to continue this strange new life he'd stumbled into.

***

Spike spent so much time worrying about how he would plan his grand return, but, of course, life rarely works that way. It happened one day after he had been working at the cafe for about six months (although he felt that "working" was perhaps too strong of a term to describe his negligible duties).

Chuck had sent him on an errand to buy more coffee filters one evening. Dark thunderheads brooded in the wild Martian skies, and Spike walked swiftly to the corner store, trying to beat the rain. Chuck rarely sent him on errands like this, and Spike always finished them as quickly as he could. His body felt good and strong again as he walked, and only a few ragged white scars remained on his torso.

Spike bought the filters at the corner bodega and exchanged a few pleasantries with the cashier, a sweet older woman named Lulu. With a pang, he thought of Annie as he walked back in the humid evening air, stowing the filters in the pocket of his windbreaker. He turned the corner, and then all of a sudden Faye was right down the street from him. She was walking quickly and glancing around nervously.

Spike froze, heart thumping wildly. She hadn't noticed him yet, and he couldn't let her see him. Not like this. He had to stick to the plan. They weren't safe here, and he didn't know or if he was being followed, or if a syndicate goon was about to leap out from the shadows and shoot them both. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he ducked behind a building as Faye walked closer. She stopped suddenly and pulled out her Glock, holding it steadily in front of her.

"Whoever's following me, I know you're there, so we might as well get this over with," she said, her voice trembling slightly. His stomach leapt at the sound of her familiar voice. She looked so much more delicate than he remembered.

A teenaged waiter poked his head out of a Chinese restaurant down the street and said something to Faye that Spike didn't catch. As quietly as he could, he retreated down the alley and set off on a random street in the opposite direction.

Spike turned down another alley and walked for another few minutes until he looked up and found himself staring directly at Faye. Stupidly, he ducked behind a car, thinking in vain that perhaps she had not really seen him. She was about five hundred feet down the street, but he felt the electricity as their eyes locked. Faye's mouth fell open with shock and she called something to him, but he didn't hear.

Without thinking, Spike turned and walked briskly in the opposite direction until he reached Chuck's front door. The clouds had finally given way and the rain pelted him angrily as he walked. His mind had gone completely blank. He took the stairs in twos, and once he reached his bedroom he collapsed on his mattress, soaking wet and panting.

Shit. This was not the way it was supposed to happen, him skulking in the shadows and running away like a frightened rabbit. He needed a way to tell her that it wasn't safe for her to be in public with him. What the hell was he going to do?

Julia's cold face swam into view again, clouding his vision and filling his mind with her dying words, his pulse rushing in his ears as he screwed up his eyes and tried to block out the memories.

That could be Faye, whispered a voice in his panicked mind, that could be her next...

Spike grasped a handful of his damp hair and exhaled violently, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with shaking hands.

He would ask Chuck to find a messenger to take a note to her, he decided. That would be the safest way to do it. First thing tomorrow, he'd find someone to send her a note, telling her where to meet him.

In spite of his blinding panic, small bursts of joy were rising in his chest like the bubbles in a glass of champagne. Seeing someone you loved after months of being surrounded by strangers was like a hit of the best drug imaginable.

It was Faye, alive and well, and although she looked much more fragile than he remembered, she was fine. Had she been out looking for him, or was it just a coincidence? Where was Jet? Was she going home to the Bebop tonight?

God, she was beautiful. His memory of her didn't do her justice. Her sharp face in the twilight, eyes burning and soft hair brushing her cheeks, slender long limbs, tense and elegant.

Tomorrow, if he could get a message to her, he might see her again. The thought flooded him with fear and excitement. What would he say to her? Would she be furious or just happy to see him?

"Faye," he said into the darkness of the room, just to hear her name spoken aloud.

He lay in the darkness of his room, listening to the rain tap against the roof. Tomorrow he might see Faye again. He repeated it to himself like a mantra, smoking cigarette after cigarette until the tips of his fingers were stained with nicotine.


	5. Smoke Signals

V. Smoke Signals

_except to think of spring_

_but i should never think of spring_

Faye found a room in a seedy hostel in downtown Tharsis right around the corner from where she had seen Spike. She plunked down a few thousand Woolongs to ensure she could keep the room for an indeterminate amount of time, and the sullen man running the front desk suddenly became very friendly as the money changed hands.

"Keep the change," Faye purred, pushing her arms into her sides so that her ample chest pressed against the countertop. The man leered at her over his wire glasses, displaying deeply yellowed teeth.

"Thank you ma'am, we do appreciate your business," he simpered, his gaze wandering up and down her figure as he led her upstairs. Faye rolled her eyes. Men were so easy to manipulate. One glimpse of cleavage and they were putty in your hands.

A few Jupiter-sized cockroaches scuttled away when she flicked on the room's light switch. Eh, big deal. She wasn't planning on doing much more than sleeping here. Once she unpacked her small bag of belongings, she stretched out on the threadbare bed and lit a cigarette. Laying with one hand behind her head, she stared at the ceiling, watching the smoke rise in sinuous blue coils.

Faye still wasn't completely convinced that she hadn't hallucinated the whole encounter with Spike. Seeing him had shaken her to the core, but perhaps she had simply dreamed the whole thing. Why did he run away from her like that? The idea that he was alive and hiding from her was intolerable. She hadn't survived fifty years of frozen sleep to put up with this kind of crap.

If you're not dead, I'm going to kill you, Spike Spiegel, she thought darkly, snubbing out her cigarette on the scuffed ashtray on the bedside table. Well then. It was time to make a plan. She would canvas the surrounding ten-mile radius as methodically as she could, asking questions to shopkeepers and bartenders, and sweet talking as many idiots as she could. If Spike had been seen around this part of town, she would find him.

***

Faye spent the next few days fruitlessly searching the streets, returning to the uninviting hotel each night completely exhausted. On the third day, she lay in bed smoking the penultimate cigarette in her pack and debating whether she had the energy to get up and buy a new pack from the corner store.

Her communicator buzzed, rattling the ashtray on the bedside table. Faye jumped slightly at the sound and snatched it up. Jet's solemn face filled the screen.

"Hey Faye, a message just came for you. I paid the messenger, but you really need to stop having things delivered here if you're not going to pay for it - "

"All right, all right, Jet, get to the point," she interjected, cutting him off. Typical Jet, always finding the time to grouse about money. She lit a new cigarette and gazed at the screen.

Jet cleared his throat, annoyed by her interruption. "It says to meet at the Cafe Noir tomorrow at noon, but it doesn't say who it's from. And then it says, 'Don't tell Jet.'" He scratched his head. "It sounds like someone's threatening you, Faye. I'd steer clear of this if I were you."

Faye shook her head impatiently. "It's gotta be Spike. This explains why he ran away earlier! He must have something to tell me." Excitement fizzed inside of her. It all made sense!

Jet frowned at her, his pixellated face grave. "Listen, kid, don't get your hopes up. You still owe money to an awful lot of people, you know. I wouldn't go if I were you. This could be a set up."

Faye brushed that idea away with a wave of her hand. "No way. This is classic Spike. Don't you see it?"

Jet glanced back down at the message and suddenly cringed.

"What? What is it?" Faye asked breathlessly, taking nervous drags off of her cigarette.

"Ah. Shit. It looks like...uh, this was supposed to be delivered two days ago, so I guess the meeting would have been yesterday," Jet said, looking embarrassed.

Faye cursed under her breath. "Damn it, Jet, you just noticed that now? And there's no return address? Who was the messenger?"

"It was one of those Rabbit delivery drones. All automated. Same kind that delivered your beta tapes, remember?" The screen flickered maddeningly as he spoke and Faye heard clacking sounds as Jet fidgeted with something on his communicator. "Hold on a sec," he told her, voice growing distorted. "Damn piece of junk - "

Faye sighed heavily. "That's okay, Jet, you're cutting out on my end too. Must be a bad signal in this place. Don't worry about it. Anyways, thanks for trying."

Jet's face dissolved into static. "Okay. Talk to you later. Don't get into trouble," he said, just as the screen zapped into blackness.

The excitement that had flared inside of Faye just moments ago had vanished. She swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and crossed her arms, clenching her jaw in frustration. How was she supposed to get in touch with Spike if he left no return address? Something inside of her was absolutely certain that the message was indeed from Spike, and not an angry creditor.

"What are you up to, Spiegel?" she murmured to herself. Back to the original plan, then, she supposed: going through every last square inch of the surrounding city with a fine-toothed comb until Spike turned up.

_for that would simply break my heart in two_

***

Spike's plan to ask Chuck for someone to use as a messenger was a bust. As soon as Spike woke up the morning after seeing Faye, he searched the cafe for Chuck only to find the man passed out face first in the kitchen, a mustache of white powder surrounding his nose. After locating a pulse, Spike dragged him upright and splashed ice water on his face until Chuck sputtered awake, hacking and snorting disgustingly.

"Oh, it's you. Fuck, what time is it?" He opened his eyes blearily, squinting at the dusty morning sunlight filtering through the blinds.

"It's about eight," Spike replied, pouring Chuck a tall glass of whiskey and placing a metal mixing bowl in front of the man for the inevitable barfing that would ensue. "Here, drink this."

Chuck took the glass gratefully and chugged it in one go. "Blech. That's the ticket. Thanks, kid. Where'd you learn that trick?"

Spike shrugged ruefully. It wasn't the first time he'd encountered people in Chuck's state. Many of his syndicate associates had spent a little too much time familiarizing themselves with Bloody Eye, and though it pained him to remember it now, Spike had woken Vicious in the same way several times. You had to roll people on their sides so they didn't choke on their vomit or bite off their tongues, Spike remembered, shuddering slightly.

Chuck swayed back and forth on the tile floor, face pale and sweaty. "Listen, let's take the day off. Do whatever you want." He retched into the mixing bowl, green bile dribbling out of his mouth. Spike looked away, stomach lurching.

"Actually, I have a favor to ask."

Chuck nodded feebly. "I guess I owe you. Fire away."

"I need to send a message to a ship called the Bebop. I'm pretty sure it's docked in the harbor. Hand delivered would be best. Think you know anyone who could get the job done?"

Chuck stared at him, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. "Hmmm...well, there's my nephew, but...eh, he's on Ganymede right now...or, well...maybe Xi-Ling from down the street...eh, actually, he's still mad at me for shorting him on that last batch..." he mumbled, pausing to retch into the bowl again.

Spike tried to conceal his impatience, tapping his foot rhythmically against the floor.

"Never mind. Forget it. Anything I can do for you? You okay getting home?"

Chuck leaned against a cabinet, his bloated face a mask of misery.

"Nah. Thanks for waking me up. Guess I had a little too much fun last night."

Spike nodded. "Take it easy, then," he told him, leaving the man shivering on the kitchen floor.

***

He might need a new boss soon if Chuck didn't stop getting into his own inventory, but in the meantime Spike had an errand to complete. Almost jogging, he headed down the block to the corner bodega, where his friend Lulu stood reading her favorite magazine, Today's Martian Woman. The door jingled merrily as Spike entered the store and Lulu's weathered face lit up when she saw him.

"Oh, Bruce, you're back! What can I do for you today, dear?" she asked, beaming at him across the counter.

"Hi, Lulu. I need a message delivered to someone. Can I pay for a delivery drone here? Oh, and a few more packs of smokes, please," he added, pulling his money card out of his pocket.

"Of course, hon. Which company did you want to use?" she asked, pulling the cartons of cigarettes off the shelves. Dozens of beaded bracelets clattered together on her wrists as she placed the cartons and a pamphlet in front of him.

Spike scanned the price list, wincing inwardly. Chuck's meager salary didn't leave him a lot of wiggle room, but he didn't want to risk the message taking too long. Who knew how long Faye would be in town?

"Let's go with Rabbit Delivery Drones. They're the ones that can track people down, right?"

Lulu nodded. "As long as they're in the area, they usually do a pretty good job." She positioned her fingers at the keyboard. "Who's this for?"

"It's for a lady called Faye Valentine."

Lulu winked at him. "Got it. And what do you want me to write here, dear?"

Spike deliberated for a moment. "Just put...meet me at the Cafe Noir tomorrow at noon. And don't tell Jet."

Lulu typed, her long magenta nails clacking against the keys. "That's all?"

Spike nodded. "That's all. How much do I owe you?"

She pushed the card reader over and Spike crossed his fingers, hoping that his money card wouldn't bounce, exhaling when the transaction completed successfully.

"So who's this funny Valentine, Bruce? So mysterious!" Lulu asked, waggling her eyebrows at him conspiratorially. "Is there a lucky lady in your life?"

Spike smirked, pocketing the cartons of cigarettes. "If I can track her down, then we'll see where it goes from there. Thanks, Lulu."

"Come see me again, Bruce!" she trilled after him as he left the store with another cheerful jingle. "We can play cards sometime!"

***

Spike walked the two blocks home quickly, jacket collar upturned against the cool breeze. Even after six months of safety, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone would leap out at him at any moment. He thought longingly of the Swordfish's speed and privacy as he walked, wondering for the thousandth time what had become of her. The loss of his ship hurt him in a deeper way than he ever could have imagined, and he felt tangible guilt at the thought of her lying in wreckage, abandoned. Maybe one day, when this odd part of his life had faded away, he could track her down and renovate her.

When he reached the cafe, Chuck was gone and the puke bowl was washed, so that was probably a good sign that he had come to his senses and cleaned himself up. Spike glanced at the digital clock nailed to the wall and saw with disappointment that it was only 9:27 am. He had over twenty-four hours to wait for Faye to arrive. Tomorrow was a Saturday, so Chuck wouldn't be around, and they could have the place to themselves.

Spike smoked cigarette after cigarette and paced endlessly, watching the minutes slide by on the clock, wearing circles in the dirty wooden floor as he walked. Now that the prospect of seeing Faye again was becoming real, his chest tightened with anxiety.

The shadows slid down the wall as the day passed excruciatingly slowly. Around four, Spike pulled out a glass and a bottle of vodka and poured himself a small nip. He didn't want to get drunk and sleep through the whole thing tomorrow, but his nerves were shot.

When the light grew indigo and dreamy outside, Spike forced himself to choke down a piece of toast and headed upstairs, mind whirling with worries about the next morning. Sips of vodka all afternoon had eventually turned into larger glasses, and he had a headache. Throwing open the bedroom window, he stared out at the dark city, lights sparking on here and there in the twilight. Had his message reached Faye yet? Dark shapes of ships sat huddled in the harbor and neon-lit rockets whizzed by occasionally. One by one, the stars revealed themselves, crystal pinpricks in the velvety black sky.

***

Spike woke up with the sun already high in the sky and instantly panicked. Groping for the alarm clock he kept by his bed, he grabbed it and saw 11:47 on the dial. Shit! Why hadn't he woken up sooner? He scrambled into his clothes and splashed some icy water on his face, brushing his teeth as he hopped around on one foot putting his jeans on. He loped down the stairs in about three big strides and reached the cafe. Chuck wasn't around. Good. Hopefully he wouldn't come in to check on anything today. The clock read 11:58 now, and Spike drummed his fingers frenetically on the mug of coffee he sipped half-heartedly. 11:59. 12:00. He sat down at one of the small tables and tried to appear casual, but he couldn't stop himself from turning his head and staring out the window into the alleyway every few seconds. 12:05. 12:15. Still no Faye. To be fair, she was always late, he reasoned. Maybe she was just trying to get a rise out of him. 12:39. 1:00. The blinking red digits were seared in his vision even when he closed his eyes.

As he waited, images of that rainy day in the graveyard floated to the surface of his memory. His suit soaked through with icy rain, heavy and clinging to his skin. The rose clutched in his hand. Tiny pricks of blood where the thorns had torn into his palm.

Spike remained glued to the table, motionless. 1:15. 2:00. Okay, so maybe she wasn't coming. Had his message even been delivered, or was she purposefully ignoring it? Wouldn't that be just like her, he thought irritably, trying to piss me off. Well, it's working, he thought, scowling. He didn't want to admit to himself just how disappointed he really was.

***

Faye decided to look for Cafe Noir anyways, even though she had missed the meeting time yesterday. Maybe Spike was still hanging around over there. The trouble was that nobody she asked had any idea where it was, or if it even existed.

"Didn't the owners relocate to Venus?" the acne-faced dim sum waiter told her.

"I heard the owner of that place got sent back to prison. It used to be over on 49th and Callisto Court, but I think it got renovated," a chess-playing old man said.

"Oh, the Cafe Noir? A pretty little lady like you don't got no reason to hang around those types," a heavily tattooed biker chick replied, removing her spiked leather jacket and surveying Faye with thinly veiled disdain. "Real nasty stuff goin' on over there."

Faye gave up on extracting any information from the locals and set off on her own again, trying to ignore her stomach grumbling with hunger. She hadn't had a real meal since she left the Bebop, but she didn't want to waste any time. The Martian sun, ever fierce, had been tempered by cool winds in the past few days, and she savored the colder air against her bare arms as she walked, peering down streets she had already checked a million times before with renewed hope.

Looming out of the shadows of a narrow alleyway, a hanging sign caught her eye. The wooden placard was battered, but she could make out the words Cafe Noir in flowery cursive script painted across the top. She stopped dead in her tracks and walked cautiously down the alley, patting herself to make sure that her Glock was safely tucked into her waistband. The cafe looked deserted, but when she pulled on the door it was open and she sidled inside. It was a dark little room with a few tables and chairs and a bar countertop that held an espresso machine and several bottles of booze. She briefly cast a longing eye at the vodka but continued her search.

A flight of stairs peeked out from behind an ajar door. Glancing around once more, she began to tiptoe upstairs, biting her lip when the third stair squeaked spectacularly. She pulled out her gun and held it at her side as she continued slowly up the stairs. She reached the first floor and peeked inside the two doors, only to find store rooms full of mops and crates of dish soap. The room on the second floor held several cases of liquor, and the third floor only contained locked safes and a few suspiciously heavy bags of "rice". There was one more floor to climb, and Faye reached the top, panting slightly from the steep stairs. Curiously, she could smell the ocean from the musty landing.

The door on this floor was locked, but jimmying locks was Faye's bread and butter. With a few jiggles of a hairpin, the doorknob gave way with a quiet clunk and she stepped hesitantly inside.

A head of dark green hair rustled from under a blanket. Spike stretched his lanky arms over his head and rolled over, fast asleep on a mattress in the middle of the floor.

Faye's mouth was dry. Her heart hammered in her throat. She took one step forward and Spike awoke with a jolt. He looked at her unseeing for a moment, rubbing sleep out of his face, and then his eyes widened in shock.

Faye stood completely still, gun held loosely at her side. Spike sat up, chest bare and covered in a jagged white scar that she had never seen. Wordlessly, she crossed the room and sank down on the mattress next to him.

"Hey, Gaujo," she said, voice trembling.

"Hey, Romani."


	6. You Go To My Head

VI. You Go To My Head

Faye and Spike stared at each other. Time slowed to a crawl. Her eyes were greener than he remembered. He propped his knees up under the scratchy blanket and wondered if he was dreaming.

After a long moment, Spike cleared his throat to break the silence.

"You're late," he told her.

Faye blinked, looking dazed. "What?"

"The note said Monday at noon," Spike said mildly. "You're a little late for that."

Her clothes were different, he realized. She wore a soft blue tank top and sleek black leggings, oddly demure compared to her usual yellow vinyl get-up. Her hair was longer, too, the ends brushing against her sharp collarbone. Spike's stomach lurched in a way he hadn't felt in years. Faye was heartbreakingly pretty, even now with her face pinched with confusion.

"Well, I only got it yesterday," Faye replied after a pause, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with a hangnail. "Jet thought it was from an angry debt collector. I knew it was you, though. Saw you the other day."

Spike swallowed hard. "Yeah. I saw you too. I'm sorry about that - "

"And you ran away from me," Faye interrupted, still staring at her hands as though they contained something intensely fascinating. "I saw you and I called your name and you bolted," she continued, a hard edge of anger creeping into her voice.

"Faye. Let me explain," Spike said evenly. "I know what it looked like, but - "

"It looked like you couldn't get away from me fast enough," Faye spat, tears beading on the tips of her eyelashes like dewdrops. "That's what it looked like, Spiegel." The corners of her mouth quivered slightly. "What are you playing at? What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm only trying to protect you and Jet. I don't know if it's safe for you to be around me."

"Bullshit. You just didn't want to see us again, is that it?" She balled up her fists in anger. "You couldn't wait to get rid of us and start your new life."

A cool breeze wafted in through the open window and blew a lock of Faye's indigo hair across her face. Without thinking, Spike reached out and pushed the errant strand behind her ear, his thumb lingering on the velvety skin behind her earlobe. Faye looked up from her hands at last and gazed at him for a second, lips parted, and then raised her arm and smacked him across the face, hard.

Spike recoiled, stunned. "What the fuck was that for?" He rubbed his smarting face, eyes watering furiously.

Faye leapt to her feet, back arched like a feral cat.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?" she shrieked. "We thought you were dead! Jet looked in the morgues, for God's sake. We've been combing the city for months. I've walked every block of this stupid place a thousand times." She choked back an enraged sob. "And now you just decide to, I don't know, waltz back into our lives like nothing happened?" She took a halting breath, tears dripping down her face. "You son of a bitch."

Spike threw aside his blanket and got to his feet, somewhat humiliated by his pajamas du jour: a pair of threadbare orange-striped boxers and nothing else. He took a hesitant step towards Faye and she crossed her arms protectively in front of her chest.

"Please. Just hear me out for a minute, and then you can leave, or hit me again, or whatever else you want to do," he said.

She glared at him distrustfully, but her mouth remained shut. Spike blew out a long breath and continued on.

"I wanted to look for you and Jet every day since I've been awake, I promise. But I don't know if I'm being hunted by the syndicate. For all I know, the Red Dragons are still trying to kill me. Finish what they started. If that's the case, I didn't want to lead them straight to the Bebop's front door."

Faye scoffed, but the hurt on her face belied her derision.

"Oh, please. Give me a break. You still could have let us know that you were okay. Or would the 'syndicate' have tracked you down for that, too?" she asked, making big mocking air quotes with her fingers.

"Well, I tried to a few days ago," Spike replied sullenly. He felt suddenly exhausted by the turn of events. He had imagined their reunion so many times over the past few months, and in his daydreams Faye always just sort of ran into his arms and that was that. What had he been thinking? This was Faye he was dealing with, after all. Everything always had to be such a production with her.

Faye gazed out the window, her narrow shoulders slumping.

"So what are you even doing here, anyways?" she asked softly. All the fight seemed to have gone out of her.

Spike joined her at the window, maintaining a wary distance. His cheek still stung where she had slapped him.

"I work in the cafe downstairs. The owner's got a few...issues but he lets me stay up here in exchange for part of my salary."

Faye smirked in spite of herself, tears drying against her flushed face. "Huh. Never really pictured you as a barista type of guy."

"What'd you call me?" Spike asked, grateful to have seized upon a new topic.

"Seriously? It's what we called dudes who worked in coffee shops on Earth," Faye said, her eyes rolled to the heavens in an expression that Spike found both endearingly familiar and deeply annoying. "Geez, have you never picked up a book?"

"Eh, I stick to Bruce Lee," Spike said, smiling faintly. He walked over to the bedside table and grabbed his pack of smokes and a lighter. Sticking two cigarettes in his mouth, he lit both and handed one to Faye. She took it and inhaled appreciatively. They smoked together in companionable silence for a few minutes. Outside, the afternoon had grown hazy and cool, and Mars's double moons loomed on the milky horizon.

"Any chance we could snag some of that vodka downstairs?" Faye asked after a while.

Spike nodded enthusiastically. "You took the words right outta my mouth."

***

Thankfully, the cafe was dark and deserted when they went downstairs. For good measure, Spike checked the deadbolts on the door and closed the blinds. He prayed that Chuck would not choose today for another kitchen floor bender. Faye flopped onto a barstool and Spike grabbed a bottle of vodka and two chilled glasses out of the freezer. For once, he was glad that his boss was such a practiced alcoholic.

Spike poured them each a generous four fingers of vodka and handed Faye her drink.

"What are we toasting to?" she asked, fingering the glass's icy rim.

Spike pondered for a moment, taking the barstool beside her.

"Eh. I dunno. Whatever you want," he said. "I try not to be too superstitious these days."

"To free booze, then," Faye declared, clinking her glass against his. She tilted her head back and drank deeply, finishing her drink in one gulp. Spike sipped slowly and shot her a sidelong look as she plunked her empty glass onto the counter.

"Thirsty?" he asked, unable to keep himself from looking over his shoulder out the window again. All clear.

She grinned, pink spots appearing high on her cheekbones. "Parched. Another one, cowboy."

Spike retrieved the bottle from the freezer and poured her another. "There's lots of food here, too, if you need something to soak that up."

Faye gulped down the second glass the second he handed it to her.

"Damn, Faye, you might want to slow down a little," he told her, unable to keep a note of concern out of his voice.

"Nah, I'm fine," she said, swaying slightly on the barstool. "Oh! That reminds me. I gotta call Jet! He's gonna lose his freaking mind when I tell him I'm with you." She pulled her comm. out of her pocket and began to dial.

Spike placed a hand on hers to stop her from pressing the call button. "Maybe not right now. Why don't you let me be the one to talk to him."

She cocked her head at him quizzically. "Are you sure? I told him I was coming here to look for you. He's going to be wondering where I am."

Spike nodded slowly, distracted by a freckle on her cheek that he had never noticed before.

"Yeah. I'll talk to him, I promise. Just give me a little time," he said. "I need to get way drunker first, anyways."

She laughed and held out her empty glass again. Spike left the bottle out this time, and before long they were both good and tipsy. The room grew dark and Spike flicked on a dusty lamp on the countertop, Faye's face glowing in the dim golden light it cast. He felt warmed from the inside out, both from the liquor and her intoxicating presence. A part of him still refused to believe that she was here in front of him.

"Spike, you really are a bastard," Faye informed him, slurring her words a little.

Spike nodded. "That's fair. But you can be a real bitch sometimes too, you know." He rubbed his cheek. "You hit me pretty hard."

"What, like you can't take a punch?" she muttered, looking guilty. Her eyes lingered on his still-healing scars on his upper arms. She traced one with a delicate fingertip, and her touch sent a delicious shiver down his spine.

"I guess you weren't just off shooting pool, were you?" she said sadly. "What happened? Tell me everything."

"Ah. Let's save that story for another time." He clinked the ice cubes against his glass. "I don't even know how I survived, to be honest. Some syndicate doctor had me hooked up to a breathing tube for a month. I was in pretty bad shape," he said, trying to keep his tone light and conversational. "But you know me. Nine lives and all that."

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "I thought you hated cats."

Spike chuckled and drained his glass. Faye raised hers to her mouth once more; Spike caught her wrist and took the glass from her with his other hand. She pouted at him in mock consternation.

"Hey, you're no fun!" she said, eyes glittering mischievously. Spike's hand remained on her tiny wrist, and she gave him a curious look. His mouth grew dry and his heart thudded in his chest.

"Faye..."

He placed an unsteady hand on the back of her neck and pulled her close to him. Their faces were only inches apart, her eyes wide with surprise, and he bridged the gap by gently pressing his lips against hers. He felt her body stiffen for a moment and then relax, melting into his chest and opening her mouth to him. He kissed her deeply, hungrily. He felt her heart beating rapidly against his chest as he held her, and she tangled her small hand in his hair and ran her sharp teeth over his bottom lip. Spike moaned softly, a low rumble in his throat, and brought his other arm around her small waist to pull her closer. Their barstools tipped precariously, and Faye's elbow knocked into one of the glasses on the counter. It shattered against the tile floor, and they broke apart, startled.

They looked away from each other, suddenly awkward. Spike dug a hand through his hair, thoughts murky with desire and confusion.

Faye stared straight ahead and ran a finger over her lips.

"I'm sorry," Spike began in a low voice. "I don't know what I...I probably shouldn't have..."

She turned to look at him. "Don't apologize," she sighed. They sat quietly for a moment.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Me too," Spike answered truthfully.

Faye rested her face in her hands, elbows propped against the bar. "But...I'm not Julia, Spike." She paused. "I'm not the one you want."

He flinched at the sound of the name coming out of Faye's mouth. "Don't talk about her. She's gone."

She nodded, biting her lip.

"And I do want you," he said softly.

***

Down the street, Chuck lay crumpled in a heap. Three men with ivory tigers tattooed on their necks took turns kicking the shit out of him as snot and tears ran down his florid face.

"We told you we were expecting you to sell that product," Thug 1 snarled at him.

Chuck sniveled and dodged another steel-toed kick. "I'm telling you, I was robbed! I swear on my mother's grave!" he shrieked. Thug 2 landed a swift kick to his temple and he wailed in agony.

"One more lie and you're dead, my friend," Thug 3 told him, spitting on him for good measure.

Chuck curled into a ball, his own tattoos covered in dirt and blood. "Fine! I took it, happy? It's gone. But I'll buy it back myself, I promise. Just give me a few days. I'll get the money."

Thug 1 snorted. "Yeah, fatty? What are you gonna do? Sell a couple more fuckin', what is it you make, cappuccinos?"

Chuck winced and crawled into a sitting position. "There's a guy who works for me. He lives over my store. I think he's got money. I'll convince him."

Thug 2 motioned to Thugs 1 and 3 to end their onslaughts. They stepped back, staring down at Chuck's miserable face.

"Okay. But this is the last time, you hear? You try this kind of stunt again and we're gonna feed you to the sea rats."

The three men turned up their coat collars and strode away. Chuck moaned as he got to his feet and appraised the damage. His nose was definitely broken, and he probably had a concussion. He cursed his own stupidity and began to drag himself down the street to his apartment, head throbbing with every step.

As Chuck passed Cafe Noir, he noticed the silhouettes of a man and a woman behind the darkened blinds. He recognized his only employee's distinctive head of hair even in a shadowy profile. So Bruce had himself a little girlfriend now, he thought to himself. That could come in handy.


	7. You Came, You Saw, You Conquered Me

VII. You Came, You Saw, You Conquered Me

Faye walked back to her motel as dawn began to flicker against the horizon, layers of oranges and lavenders painted like garish brushstrokes against the blackness of the night. Her body vibrated with exhaustion, but she felt like she was floating. Store owners were just beginning to open up their shops, wearily sweeping their front stoops and emptying buckets of dirty dishwater into the gutter.

The morning air was a cacophony of smells: exhaust and seawater and old fish and cooking oil and honeysuckle and garbage and baking bread. After a moment of consideration, Faye realized that it reminded her of her childhood. Humans had to make everywhere they went so very Earth-like, she mused, even if they hadn't lived on the planet for generations. The thought made her feel unexpectedly tender towards the people she passed. Everyone was just trying to make homes out of their allotted chunks of space rocks, drifting through the stars like so many specks of dust in a beam of light.

Spike had offered to let her sleep in his room, (and Faye was unclear as to whether that offer included him in the bed), but after their unexpected kiss, Faye wanted to return to the motel for a few hours, digest what had just happened, and pass out until her head cleared. Everything about the morning felt dreamlike and strange as she walked.

"So you'll swing by later?" Spike had asked as she stood in the doorway. He slouched against the wall, hands in his pockets in a posture that Faye thought of as quintessentially Spike, but his voice contained a note of pleading that tugged at her heart. She realized for the first time just how lonely he must have been.

"I'll be back later today. I promise. How about three?" she had told him reassuringly, unsure whether to touch him again. What was the protocol for this kind of thing? Usually after spending the night with a guy, she snuck away while they slept, their wallets finding new homes in her pockets. She settled on grasping his hand just as he went in for a long-armed hug and they collided awkwardly, all elbows and knees. Faye laughed but stopped as soon as she saw the look on Spike's face. He feigned nonchalance and gave her a quick squeeze on the arm as she opened the door.

"Sorry. I just...haven't done this in a while," he said, looking abashed.

***

Faye reached her motel room door and fumbled in her pocket for the key card. In her haze of tiredness, she didn't notice that the door had been left slightly ajar until she jammed the key into the slot and the door swung open without unlocking. She stumbled into the room, thrown off balance and wary. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the musty darkness, and as she fumbled against the wall looking for the light switch, a calloused hand reached out and clapped a rag against her mouth. Her nose filled instantly with the vicious stench of ammonia. Eyes burning, she struggled frantically against her unknown assailant and tried to scream out, but black spots clustered at the edge of her vision and she couldn't make a sound. The last thought she had before losing consciousness was of her Glock, lying forgotten on the countertop back at the cafe.

***

After Faye left, Spike collapsed in bed, happiness spreading across his chest like warm oil. It had been so long since he had felt true excitement about anything besides food or money. He knew it was time for him to call Jet, but a part of him wanted to savor a few more secret hours with Faye before reaching out to his old partner. Spike wondered what Jet would think if he knew what had happened between Faye and him; frowning, he promptly decided to save that thought for later. He seemed to be doing that a lot these days. Sighing and stretching his spidery limbs across his mattress, he caught a whiff of Faye's flowery perfume on his wrist and felt his stomach do another backflip. Smiling drowsily to himself, he slipped into the kind of deep sleep you only get in the mornings after sleepless nights, thick and overgrown with visions branching out in every direction like the roots of a dark forest.

***

Spike stood in the pool hall, the collar of his sherpa jacket upturned jauntily. Vicious hovered beside him like an overgrown stork, four whiskeys deep and prattling on about some plan he had to approach their boss Mao Yenrai with a new proposition to forge an alliance with the White Tigers, or something or other...Spike tuned him out as he lined up his next shot, squinting down the barrel of his cue. He glanced around, wondering if the pretty blonde he'd noticed at the bar last night would return.

"Spike, are you listening to me?" Vicious hissed, shaking his silver hair out of his eyes, a tic that manifested itself during times of stress. "This is of the utmost importance. Frankly, this is no time for games! We have the opportunity to create a new era of Syndicate history - "

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening," Spike told him, exasperated. "Loosen up a little, will ya?" He made his shot, the cue ball cracking against the six and sending it into the corner pocket with a gratifying clunk. Straightening up again, he saw a golden head bobbing near the doorway, and patted his own hair self-consciously as the woman crossed the room.

Vicious followed his gaze, relief washing over his face and softening his severe features. He strode over to the blonde woman and kissed her on the cheek.

"Spike, have you met my Julia yet?" Vicious asked, wrapping a tipsy arm around the woman's slender waist. She was dressed in a black leather jumpsuit, the top unzipped a few inches to reveal a glimpse of freckled skin. Spike gulped around the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I didn't realize you two knew each other," Spike said offhandedly. Julia gave him a blinding smile and held out a small hand. Spike shook it and tried to hoist a convincing grin onto his face in return.

"So you're the famous Spike," Julia said, winking. Spike felt his knees go weak. "I've heard so much about you from Vicious," she continued. "You boys sure get into a lot of trouble together." Her eyes were a clear crystal blue and twinkled with good humor.

Spike chuckled weakly. "Eh, don't trust a word he says. I'm not all that. Vicious tends to exaggerate when he's been drinking."

Julia tossed back her curls and laughed, a beautiful bell-like sound. "Yeah, I'm aware. He can be such a drama queen, huh?" Vicious blushed and pulled her closer to his side.

"Tomorrow we need to speak, all right, Spike?" Vicious told him sternly as he turned to leave with Julia. Spike rolled his eyes and waved the two of them off.

"Yeah, Mom, I know. Get out of here already, lovebirds," he called as they left, trying hard to give off his coolest Clint Eastwood swagger. A sour knot of jealousy stewed in his stomach as he watched them go, and he tossed his pool cue into the rack with unnecessary savagery.

***

Julia lay sleeping in his arms, her warm breath tickling Spike's chest. His muscles ached with fatigue, but he couldn't turn his brain off. This was the third night in a row that they had made love, and while it thrilled him, his insides twisted with guilt, picturing Vicious alone and unaware at his apartment only a few miles away. As though sensing his thoughts, Julia stirred and awoke, gazing up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Can't sleep?"

He stroked her yellow hair and kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry about me. Go back to sleep."

She rolled out of his embrace and sat up, pulling the sheets around her chest. "Are you thinking about Faye again?"

Spike frowned in the darkness. "How do you know about Faye?"

"I can read your mind, Spike," she whispered. "I know you're dreaming about her. What will Jet think?"

"But I haven't even met her yet," Spike told her, confused. Her face blurred as though underwater, and she began to dissipate into a million tiny dots of color, pixelating like a screen losing reception. A strangled yell escaped from his mouth and he reached out to grab her, grasping desperately at fistfuls of air.

"Julia! Wait!"

He awoke with a shuddering gasp, tangled in his blankets and drenched in clammy sweat. It took him a good five minutes to calm his heart, using his Jeet Kune Do breathing techniques to regain control over his rebellious body.

Well, you didn't need Freud to figure that one out, he thought bitterly. The sun was high overhead and his room had grown hot and airless. He lit a cigarette and grabbed his alarm clock. Two in the afternoon. Just enough time to clean himself up and calm down before Faye returned. He took a cold shower, leaning his forehead against the tiled wall and letting the water pound his neck. If only he could rinse out his brain in the same way.

Spike pulled on his suit and headed downstairs, thinking that he would stop at Lulu's shop to get something to share with Faye for lunch. Maybe some flowers too. He wasn't sure if Faye was a flower type of girl, but who knew? After the surprises of the past twenty-four hours, anything seemed possible. He turned his face to the strong Martian sun, trying to shake the aftertaste of the nightmare.

***

Faye woke up with a splitting headache. That wasn't anything new, considering her recent drinking habits, but something seemed different. Medicinal, somehow. Peering through swollen eyelids, she gradually realized that her wrists and legs were bound with zip ties, their sharp plastic edges cutting harshly into her skin. Panic rose like bile in her throat and she thrashed fruitlessly for a moment, trying to free her limbs.

She looked around and saw that she lay in the corner of a dirty closet. The only things around her were jugs of cleaning supplies and a few brooms and vacuums. She gazed around, hoping to find a pair of scissors that she could potentially shake down from the metal shelves, but spotted nothing useful.

Dimly, the memory of walking into the motel room and being jumped returned. She hadn't seen the attacker, and only remembered that his hands were exceptionally rough and calloused.

Glumly, she told herself that this was probably her debts catching up with her at last. Jet was right to have worried. Someone must have lost patience with her diversions and tracked her down. And how had she picked this day of all days to forget her gun. What kind of idiot was she? She shook her head in disbelief.

And Spike. Her heart skipped a beat. He would think that she was standing him up again. Her eyes filled with tears as she pictured him waiting eagerly for her back at the cafe. Would he lose hope and disappear again? No. She shook herself mentally. Buck up, Faye, she scolded herself. She had made it out of tougher scrapes then this before.

The closet door burst open and a small man covered in Venusian tattoos darted inside, looking visibly shaken.

"Shit, you're awake. They said that would have knocked you out for longer," he muttered, checking the zip ties at her arms and legs. "All right, you can't get far like that, can you?" He looked unhinged, smiling at her with gritted teeth. His jerky movements reminded Faye of the homeless men she had seen skulking around the harbor, and she guessed that this guy was a junkie, loaded to the gills on something strong.

His breath reeked of whiskey as he puttered around close to her face. Faye hacked up a good mouthful of spit and deposited it onto his ruddy face. Screeching, the man threw a messy punch. His fist made contact with her eye and she bit back a cry.

"Who the fuck are you?" she hissed. "What's going on here? I don't have any money. You and your cronies can give up if that's the plan." Her eye throbbed with pain but she kept her expression tough, jutting out her sharp chin.

The man blinked. "I don't want any money from you. I'm just waiting for your boyfriend to show up. He's the one with money," he said, looking distractedly over his shoulder at the closet door. "They were gonna kill me," he said, suddenly whipping around to stare at her, eyes bulging, "I didn't wanna do it but they said they were gonna kill me if I didn't buy it back!" He grimaced and rubbed his forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he spat.

Faye sat for a moment, perplexed. "Who are you...are you talking about Spike?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you a Red Dragon?"

"Who the fuck is Spike?" he asked, looking even more deranged as he stared at her with reddened eyes, nervously rubbing his hands together. "I'm waiting for Bruce to show up. Tall, skinny, crazy head of hair?"

Faye narrowed her eyes. "How do you know him?"

The man opened his mouth to answer and then froze and cocked his head; the sound of several sets of footsteps approached. Faye's heart leapt to her throat.

"Help! Help me! I'm in the clo-" she began screaming, and he clocked her in the head, hard, with a bottle of bleach. She collapsed like a rag doll and the world went black once more.

***

Spike found himself actually whistling as he walked into Lulu's shop. As usual, her weathered face broke into a wide smile when she saw him.

"Bruce! My favorite customer. Honey, did the message make it to your friend okay?"

Spike smiled. "More or less. I'm actually about to see her again right now. I want to get her something. Do you have flowers?"

Lulu looked like she might faint with excitement. Fluttering her hands in front of her face, she came out from behind the counter and gestured wordlessly for Spike to follow her. She opened the store's back door and revealed a tiny but perfectly tended patch of garden in the corner of the alleyway. Sunflowers stretched cheerfully to the rooftops, flanked by delicate magenta roses and some feathery periwinkle flowers Spike couldn't name.

"Which ones would she like, Bruce?" Lulu asked, smiling proudly.

Spike pursed his lips and considered for a moment.

"Well, the roses are gorgeous," he started, Lulu flushing as pink as the flowers and giggling, "but...I think sunflowers might be more her style. She likes yellow."

Lulu nodded. "Definitely. Very bold. I'll tie these up for you nicely too." She pulled a pair of clippers out from some hiding place in her bulky sweater and cast a critical eye over the sunflowers, selecting five of the heartiest contenders. Spike followed her as she went back into the store and wrapped them in newspaper, tying a purple ribbon around the stems.

"Beautiful. Thanks a million, Lulu," Spike told her, patting her wrinkled hand. "And how much do I owe you?"

He held out his money card and she swatted his hand away fiercely.

"Absolutely not, Bruce. My treat," she told him firmly.

"You're an angel," Spike replied, putting the bouquet under one arm. Lulu sighed wistfully.

"Oh, to be young and in love! Go give these to her already. I'd love to meet her sometime, too."

"You bet. You'll get along great. She's a real card shark. Thanks again," he told her happily as he left.

He walked home, clutching the sunflowers by their bristly, fuzzy stems. When he got to the cafe, he experimented with placing the bouquet in several different locations on the counter, deciding where it would be the most noticeable when Faye walked in. He spotted her gun lying on the counter, left behind from earlier that morning. Smirking to himself, he placed the bouquet and the Glock side by side. There. Perfect. He poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee and waited.

Around 2:45, he padded back upstairs to change into a t-shirt, feeling too warm for his suit jacket and dress shirt. Reaching his bedroom door, he noticed a piece of paper wedged in between the door and the frame. He raised his eyebrows and wiggled it out. Maybe Chuck was kicking him out at last. The note was folded into a small square and he opened it curiously. It was written just like the old movies: cut and pasted mismatched letters from magazines and newsprint. He scowled. Pretty damn corny.

I HVE THE GIRL

MT ME AT THE GLDEn WoOLNG 2MRRW at 7pm IF U WANT TO C HER ALVE AGAIN

PLAY A GME OF ROULEtte AND WAIT FOR the SIGN

BRING ME 2 MILlion oR SHe DIES

Spike's first reaction was that this was a bad prank. But who would be pulling a prank on him? He didn't even think that this could be about Faye for a moment. With trepidation, he glanced at his alarm clock on the bedroom floor. It was already 3:01. If Faye didn't show up, then...

His hands trembled. No. He hadn't even been with her for one full day and she was already in danger? This had to be a joke.

He stood rooted in place. 3:15. 3:35. 4 pm. He shook with rage. Someone must have seen him with Faye and put two and two together.

"God DAMMIT!" he yelled, kicking the doorframe with every ounce of his strength.

Okay. He breathed heavily through his nose. He needed a plan. First of all, he certainly didn't have two million Woolongs. There was only one person he trusted to help him.

Bolting downstairs, he tore apart the kitchen looking for the spare comm. he'd noticed Chuck leave lying around one day. He found it in a drawer, buried underneath a jumble of disposable chopsticks and soy sauce packets. Snatching it with jittery hands, he pummeled the power button and waited for it to boot up, painfully slow. It was a clunky model he hadn't seen since the 2050s, but eventually it sputtered into life. He wracked his brain for the right number, and then his fingers took over and punched it in purely out of muscle memory. It rang several times. Spike cursed under his breath.

"C'mon, you piece of shit, connect already, c'mon," he muttered. After eleven stuttering rings, it connected and the screen snapped open.

Jet's face filled the video display, his expression changing from bemused to shocked in the moment it took him to register who was on the other end. Spike glimpsed the interior of the Bebop's control room behind Jet and was flooded with a wave of homesickness.

"Good lord. Is it...really you?" Jet choked. He ran his mechanical hand over his bald head. "So Faye wasn't going nuts after all."

Spike didn't have time for anything sentimental at the moment.

"Jet, I need your help. I'm in Tharsis City. Somebody kidnapped Faye. I'm supposed to bring two million Woolongs to a casino tomorrow. How soon can you be here?"

Jet stared at him, stunned. "That explains why she hasn't been returning my calls." He paused, looking grim. "I'm on the way to Pluto for a bounty. Even if I fire on all cylinders, I can't be there for at least another 48 hours."

Spike swore under his breath. "Okay. Get here when you get here. But do you have any money?"

"Typical," Jet grumbled.

"Jet! We don't have time for this," Spike shouted at the screen.

"Right, right, sorry," Jet said, nodding. "Yeah, I can call some of my buddies at the ISSP. The accountant still owes me one." He paused, staring out the cockpit window while he thought for a moment. "Let's see...I'll have them set up a fake transfer that will cancel after 24 hours. Do you have an bank number I can wire it to?"

Spike gave him the correct numbers. He thanked his lucky stars that Jet had always been good in a crisis.

"Okay. I'm changing course now," Jet said, hurriedly dialing in new coordinates. "Spike, you have a whole lot of explaining to do when I get there. For fuck's sake."

Spike winced. "I know. We gotta get Faye first."

Jet nodded curtly and cut the connection. Spike held the blank screen in his hand for another moment and pocketed it, running his hands through his hair and pacing back and forth. He fired off a few experimental kicks and punches against invisible enemies in the kitchen. His moves were rusty, but he had a feeling that he would be getting a refresher course tomorrow. Fear threatened to envelop him, and he pushed it down and tried to stay calm and purposeful. This kidnapper was clearly an amateur, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. He thought of Faye, alone and terrified somewhere. He pictured her lying cold and broken, green eyes glassy and still, and stifled a cry with his fist.

This time it would end differently, he told himself over and over, smoking and pacing and cursing the gods he didn't believe in for the way his life had turned out.


	8. Body and Soul

VIII. Body and Soul

Jet was a simple man, really.

He liked to cook. He liked tending to his bonsai. He liked quiet, and a good nap, and a game of chess. But it seemed like all he did these days was clean up messes and put out fires.

He was en route to Pluto for a bounty head when Spike called. A convict had escaped from one of the notorious prison ships and carried quite a hefty price tag on his head. Jet left Faye several messages before he took off, worried by her radio silence, but he knew all too well Faye's tendency to disappear like a stray cat once in a while, coming home several days later and expecting food and shelter and company. Come to think of it, Spike had done the same thing, Jet thought, frowning to himself as he steered the Bebop on a breakneck course back to Mars. He shook his head as he corrected the past tense in his mind: Spike was doing the same thing at this very moment: showing up out of the blue expecting Jet to drop everything and help him. Jet didn't know the details, but he felt sure that whatever was happening to Faye right now was Spike's fault.

Faye might have been happy to see Spike come back from the dead, but Jet was angry. Hell, he was furious. Eight months and not a single word, he thought darkly as he punched coordinates into the Bebop's controls, avoiding a patch of craggy meteorites outside of Neptune's atmosphere. Could have dropped them a line months ago and saved them a whole lot of trouble, but no, apparently that wasn't dramatic enough. Jet scowled and lit a cigarette, leaning back in his seat and feeling the thrum of the ship's engine through the soles of his feet. Neptune's turquoise haze illuminated the cockpit, casting a ghostly glow across the familiar machinery.

Jet opened a rusty drawer and pulled out a battered paper windmill: Ed's parting gift to the Bebop. He tried not to get too sentimental about it, but the truth was that he missed the bizarre little kid more than he would ever admit. When Jet drank too much, he sometimes pictured himself in an alternate universe: settling down with someone, maybe Alisa. A few mini-Jets running around. A house somewhere nice. A dog, perhaps a corgi. He sighed and ran his mechanical hand over his bald head.

***

Faye lost track of time as she lay in the dark closet, the zip ties digging into her swollen wrists and ankles. Her stomach ached with emptiness and her mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, but she hardly noticed her hunger and thirst. She dozed on and off, jerking awake at the slightest sounds from outside the door, but the tattooed man did not return.

Inexplicably, her thoughts turned to Ein. She wondered what the dog was up to these days. Was he still tagging along with Ed, or was he lost somewhere, alone, just like her? A tear ran down her pointed nose and she licked it away, tasting the salt.

***

Spike couldn't sleep at all. He tossed restlessly on his mattress for a few hours and eventually gave up and went downstairs to make coffee; the clock read 4:04 am and the sky outside was pitch black. Oddly, Chuck hadn't shown up in several days, and Spike wondered if perhaps one of his deals had ended badly.

To keep himself busy, Spike set to disassembling and cleaning his Jericho, methodically wiping down every tiny piece and checking the ammunition over and over again. He tested the weight of it in his hand and practiced snatching it out of his belt from every possible angle. He stretched his arms and legs and went through a Jeet Kune Do warmup routine, his body feeling slightly foreign and unbalanced with its newest batch of scars and freshly healed internal injuries.

He wished desperately for his Swordfish, but he would have to take a zipcraft cab to the Golden Woolong tonight. The casino was located outside of the city by a good twenty miles, sandwiched in between two large Martian mountains. In another lifetime, he loved gambling there with his Dragon buddies; he remembered spending wild nights looking out at the dusty orange wilderness from the insulated comfort of the glass-enclosed dining room. He and Vicious would blow all of their money on blackjack and whiskey, trying their best to look like hot shot gangsters. Spike shook his head. If you had told him back then that he would have been responsible for killing Vicious, he would have laughed and rolled his eyes.

Spike mentally reviewed his plan for the night: get in a cab around 5 pm, arrive around 5:30, head for the roulette tables, wait for a sign of some sort at 7, hand over the money, grab Faye, and go. He had no desire to complicate things and hoped that he could avoid making a scene. His gut told him that this wasn't a Syndicate deal, but it was still a possibility.

The day grew hot and stagnant as he waited inside the cafe. Long shadows rolled across the walls as he sat, anxious and sweating through his yellow shirt. He made himself a plate of burnt scrambled eggs around noon, feeling queasy as he chewed methodically and stared at the walls. The sunflowers meant for Faye lay wilted on the counter. He pocketed Faye's forgotten Glock, guessing that she was missing it wherever she was.

Around 4 pm, Spike couldn't wait any longer. Patting his jacket pockets to ensure that he had both guns and his money card, he stepped into the warm afternoon air and looked up and down the street to see if any zipcraft cabs were around. Spotting one hovering a few blocks away, he broke into a jog and waved the driver down. The driver pulled a U-turn and swung around to pick him up.

"Where ya headed?"

The driver worked a wad of foul-smelling tobacco inside his lower lip as he talked. He was a small man with the kind of swarthy, weather-beaten face that lifelong Martians often developed, exposed too often to the noxious atmosphere that humans weren't designed to withstand.

"Golden Woolong," Spike answered tersely, climbing in the passenger door. The cab smelled strongly of bitter herbal incense and stale sweat.

The driver nodded and fired up the engines. They lifted off and Spike stared out the window at the shrinking skyscrapers, tapping his fingers neurotically against the glass of the cockpit.

The driver flipped on the radio and listened to a crackly baseball game, muttering criticisms of the players as they flew. Spike tuned it out and tried to keep his thoughts positive, unable to stop picturing Faye lying bloody and injured, or worse. No. Shake it off. In fact, this might all be a ruse to get him out in the open. He hadn't even considered that yet. He pulled his gun out of his jacket pocket and checked it once more. The driver shot him a sidelong glance but said nothing.

After twenty minutes of flying, the city shrank into the rear view mirror and the landscape became rough and ragged; rust-colored cliffs and outcroppings giving way to deep valleys in the terrain. Spike could see the wreckage of crashed vessels here and there, dotting the ground like the discarded exoskeletons of metallic insects. He hoped that his Swordfish wasn't among them.

The neon lights of the casino glimmered ahead and the driver yanked on a gearshift, slowing the zipcraft as they approached. An enormous neon bikini-clad woman swung her ten-foot leg to and fro. Images of dapper, old-Earth-fashioned men in top hats leapt out of holographic billboards, offering cards and poker chips and shimmering bottles of scotch.

Spike remembered coming here for the first time as a nervous seventeen-year-old with Vicious and Mao and a few other Syndicate men. It was here that he learned how to get drunk, chugging whiskey until he vomited painfully into a potted plant, and it was here that he kissed a woman for the first time. She had been a hired dancer for the Dragons and took pity on the gangly teenager as he skulked in the shadows of the older men. Spike couldn't recall much about the kiss besides the scent of her jasmine perfume. Vicious had stumbled across them as they hid behind a pillar and blushed furiously, backing away and tripping over a roulette table.

The driver pulled into the loading dock and handed over the card machine. Spike pulled out his money card and transferred almost four times as much as the ride cost. The driver stared down at it, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sir, are you quite sure..." he asked, looking at Spike like he was insane.

Spike grimaced.

"Wait around until I come back. It'll be a few hours. If anyone asks, you've never seen me. Got it?"

The man nodded fervently and Spike clambered out of the zipcraft. Taking a deep breath, he stuck his hands into his pockets and walked through the casino doors.

***

Chuck sat hunched at the poker table wearing dark sunglasses. He wore his jacket collar flipped up to hide most of his face, and he hoped that the disguise was convincing enough to stump his employee Bruce when he arrived. Unbeknownst to him, two White Tiger snipers had their rifle sights trained on him from the casino's balconies. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Bruce enter the room. Good thing that chick was so hot, he thought, letting out a deranged giggle and clutching the stem of his wine glass with whitened fingers. His plan had worked! He couldn't believe it. Reaching into his blazer pocket, he pulled out a tiny baggie and set it carefully on his thigh under the table. When he told those thugs that he was completely out of his supply, he hadn't been entirely truthful, but he couldn't sell everything he had. He needed a little, just a little, to get through the day. He licked a fat finger and plunged it into the bag, coating it in white powder and shoving the finger back into his mouth greedily. Chuck felt that he could pull this maneuver off covertly, but a beautiful redhead across the table watched him with revulsion as he stashed the baggie back in his pocket and gave his head an agitated shake. The redhead murmured something to her tuxedoed companion, and he turned in his seat to stare at Chuck as well. Chuck flashed the pair a strained smile and tried to focus on the game.

It was only 6:15. Chuck would give Bruce until 7 to make his way over to the roulette tables, and then he would figure out what to do from there. Chuck was getting all of his ideas for this thing from various movies he'd watched. Frankly, he hadn't expected to make it this far. He felt that the cut-and-pasted note had been a particularly nice touch, but dealing with the actual kidnapping of the girl had been much harder than he expected. She was so slender, but she sure felt like a sack of bricks when he had to drag her into the closet unconscious. He wrinkled his nose distastefully, remembering how she had spat in his face.

***

At 6:30, Spike sauntered over to the roulette table and took a seat. He cast his eyes across the room, searching desperately for Faye, but he saw only strangers. A beautiful redhead nearby looked him up and down as he settled into his chair and tilted her champagne glass in his direction.

"You look like you could use a drink," the redhead told him, batting her dark lashes. "Care to join me?"

Spike drummed his fingers on the felt tabletop. "Sorry, lady, I'm already meeting someone tonight," he told her, not meeting her eyes. She let out a huffy breath and stalked away on her red stilettos, looking hurt.

Throngs of people swarmed the floor, drinking and smoking cheerfully, bedecked with jewels and fur and expensive leather and designer suits from Ganymede. The clinking of Woolongs hitting metal echoed from every corner, mingled with the sounds of chatter and tinkling glasses and beeping video slot machines. Spike leaned back in his chair and waited for the game to begin, wondering what exactly the sign would be.

***

Sequestered in the soaring balconies above the casino floor, Thug 2 tapped Thug 1 on the shoulder as they crouched behind the railing. Their rifle sights remained squarely on Chuck's face.

"Is that our guy?" Thug 2 asked as they watched Spike sidle into the assigned seat at the roulette table.

Thug 1 blinked. "Is that...?" He placed his gun on the floor and looked through a pair of binoculars hanging around his neck, zooming in on the head of dark green hair at the roulette table. He swore under his breath.

"This is who Chuck blackmailed into bringing the cash? Shit, man, he brought us the new leader of the Red Dragons. That's fuckin' Spike Spiegel down there!"

Thug 2 leapt to his feet and wrenched the binoculars off his partner's muscled neck. He peered through them and let out a stream of expletives.

"Go call Tamadashi. Now. We're dead meat if Chuck carries this plan out," Thug 1 instructed. Thug 2 nodded frantically and sprinted down the balcony fire escape, muttering directions into his earpiece.

Thug 2 pulled out his comm and hurriedly dialed his boss's number. Holding his breath, he counted the seconds in between the rings until the video flickered into life. Tamadashi's wrinkled face filled the screen.

"Yes?"

Thug 2 swallowed. "Tamadashi-San, we have a problem. Uh, it turns out that our mule ended up blackmailing, um, Spike Spiegel. He's here on the casino floor right now. How should we proceed, sir?"

Tamadashi gave him an inscrutable look. "Spiegel? He's alive? Are you quite certain it's him?"

"Yes, sir. It's either him or someone who looks exactly like him." Thug 2 told him, his palms sweating so badly that the comm slipped out of his hands. He repositioned it hurriedly. "Sorry about that, sir."

Tamadashi nodded, his catlike black eyes narrowed to angry slits."Very well. Dispose of the mule. We do not wish to instigate a war with the Red Dragons simply over the matter of lost product. We will have to recover the funds in another manner."

Thug 2 nodded curtly. "Yes, sir. It will be taken care of."

Tamadashi hung up without saying another word. Thug 2 motioned to Thug 1 and gave the signal; Thug 1 pulled the trigger in one fluid motion.

***

Seated at the poker table, Chuck was hit in the left shoulder and fell forward, gasping and spluttering. Several women screamed, and a rumble of panic swelled up around the poker table as people figured out what had just happened. Tables and chairs were knocked over in panic. Chuck staggered away from the table, clutching his shoulder where a dark stain was spreading across his shirt like oil. He dragged himself towards the roulette table, pushing his way through clusters of terrified casino customers.

***

Spike heard the gunshot and sprang to his feet, whipping his Jericho out of his pocket and breaking into a crouching run, looking for cover. Security guards were streaming into the room, guns drawn, herding up the crowds and directing them to exits. In the commotion, Spike ducked behind a large topiary and scanned the room, spotting the snipers with their rifles drawn as they bolted across the balcony. He cursed his own stupidity for not checking the room more carefully. In his Syndicate days he would have never forgotten to check every nook and cranny.

The man who had been shot was limping towards him. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, even behind the dark glasses and upturned collar that almost concealed his entire face. As the man reached him and held out a blood-splattered arm, Spike noticed a familiar tattoo on the wrist.

"Bruce...where's the cash?" the man wheezed, doubled over in pain. Spike grabbed him by his collar and ripped off the sunglasses.

"It was you," Spike hissed, lifting Chuck off his feet and pinning him against a pillar. Chuck spluttered and started to turn blue.

"Where the hell is Faye? What have you done to her? If you've hurt her, I'll kill you," Spike yelled, aware that people were staring at him in terror as they ran towards the exits. He pointed his gun at Chuck's temple and shook him roughly. "Tell me now before I blow your fucking brains out!"

Chuck coughed up a clot of dark blood, eyes rolling back in his head. "She's in...the closet...third...floor," he told Spike in an agonized whisper. "I didn't...want to do it, but they were going to kill me," he said, looking at Spike with pleading eyes.

Spike released him and he crumpled to the floor.

"Who was going to kill you? Who made you do this?" he asked, curious in spite of his panic.

Chuck drew a horrible rattling breath, a dark bloodstain spreading across his entire shirt.

"The White Tigers," he said. "Tamadashi said I...had to pay them back." He gave a tortured cough and his head flopped grotesquely to the side, eyes glazing over.

Several security guards had spotted him from across the room. Spike turned on his heels and sprinted towards the elevators, firing several shots behind him as he ran. He didn't care what happened as long as he could reach Faye. Panting, he slipped into the elevator just as the doors were closing, and he saw the faces of the security guards rounding the corner through the sliver between the doors as they closed. He leaned against the wall and pummeled the button for the third floor, pressing the heel of his palm against his rib cage where his recent injuries burned in protest.

***

Faye awoke from a half-sleep to the sound of gunshots and screaming. Her body filled instantly with adrenaline and she struggled once more to free her arms and legs. The door burst open and she flinched. She squeezed her eyes shut as she heard someone approach her, but a gentle hand stroked her face instead. Peeking through one eyelid, she saw Spike kneeling in front of her, his eyes full of something she had never seen in them before.

"You found me," she croaked, her throat hoarse and sore. Spike's face lit up at the sound of her voice.

"I did. We need to get out of here pretty quickly. I made a bit of a mess," he told her, fiddling with the zip ties. "Shit. I don't have a knife." He tugged on the ties binding her ankles experimentally.

Faye chuckled weakly. "Spike, you're always making a bit of a mess."

He stood up and pawed through a box on the shelves. "Ok, here's a corkscrew. This might work," he muttered, crouching and beginning to saw away at the zip ties with the pointed tip. After a few moments, her ankles were free and he set about releasing her hands. Once she was freed, she pulled herself into a sitting position and massaged her swollen, painful limbs. Spike peered intently into her eyes.

"Are you okay? I mean, I know you're not, but did he hurt you?" he asked in a low voice.

"I've been better," Faye replied. She felt suddenly irritated. "You know, I'm not a damsel in distress all the time, Spike, I've had to rescue you plenty of times too. I can take care of myself just fine."

Spike gave her an exasperated look. "What, so you'd rather I'd left you here?"

"Well, I didn't say that, but - "

A sudden burst of gunfire from outside caused them both to jump, and Spike pulled her to her feet. Faye's legs wobbled but she felt strong enough to walk. He pulled her Glock out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Ok. We gotta go. I'll go first and cover you, okay? If I tell you to keep going alone, do it."

Faye glared at him. "No way. You already got to do the tragic hero thing once - "

"Faye! Please! Not now." Spike pressed his ear against the door and motioned for her to come closer. "On the count of three we run, all right? One...two...three."

Spike threw the door open and took off, grasping Faye's hand in his. Even in the insanity of the moment, Faye couldn't help but notice the warmth of his strong fingers on hers. They made it down the hallway and turned into the main room to see security guards pouring out of every corner. Alarms buzzed through the intercom.

"This way!"

Spike yanked her in the direction of the exit and she ran as fast as she could, her muscles screaming in protest. They reached the door and Spike pressed it open with his shoulder, heading for an empty zipcraft that sat idling in the loading dock. The casino airlock began to close with a hiss, security guards running towards it, and just before Spike grabbed her by the arms and lifted her into the passenger side, she felt as though an invisible hand reached out and punched her, hard, in the lower back. It knocked the wind of out of her, but the sensation was curiously painless. Spike jimmied the ignition expertly until it roared into life and flew the zipcraft straight out of the loading dock, shattering the glass and speeding up into the stars.

Faye panted as she watched the casino disappear behind them.

"We did it! We made it!"

Spike's face was drawn and serious as he worked the controls.

"Don't jinx it yet." He pulled the ship's thruster out and rocketed them higher into the stratosphere. "I don't have a plan, just so you know. I don't know where we're going right now, but let's get out of Mars and go from there."

Faye made a noise of agreement, feeling strangely light-headed. Maybe it was altitude sickness. She hadn't flown in a while, after all. Spike glanced at her and did a double take.

"Faye...you're hurt," he said in a disbelieving tone. He fumbled for the autopilot switch and leaned over the center console to look at her. Faye looked down, and to her surprise there was a crimson stain radiating out from a dark hole in her left hip.

"Huh. I've been shot," she said. She started to laugh suddenly. It seemed like the funniest thing in the world for some reason. "Even after all the shit we've gotten into, I've never been shot! You're the one who always gets shot! It doesn't even hurt!"

Spike pulled her leggings away from her hip and she giggled, swatting him away. "Geez, at least take me out for dinner first!"

Spike looked more afraid than ever as he inspected the bullet wound. She felt so hot for some reason. And kind of like she had just inhaled ten martinis. Very strange. She snapped back into reality just in time to hear Spike say something else.

"You're injured. Hold on. You need to lie down." He adjusted the lever on her seat and lowered her into it so she was lying flat. She couldn't stop giggling but she was crying now, too. Spike turned to rummage in the glove compartment for supplies, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him close.

"Don't let me die," Faye told him, enunciating every word. "I didn't come back from the dead to get shot, okay, Spiegel?" She felt that it was very important to convey this message. "I don't...want to die in...outer space."

Spike gazed at her for a long moment, his mismatched brown eyes darting between her face and her injury. He stroked her cheek again.

"Don't talk. Just rest. You're gonna be fine," he said firmly, sounding as though he was trying to convince himself as well as her.

Faye drifted. She couldn't hold anything in her mind any longer. The moons of Jupiter loomed through the cockpit window, and her addled vision split each of them into shards of iridescent silver gemstones as she squinted. She didn't know if she was dreaming when the ship began to rattle ominously. Spike cursed and and did a million different things with the controls, but she couldn't focus on him. He was a blur of blue and green and yellow as he moved. Faye smiled drowsily. Spike was alive and right in front of her. The surface of a moon was drawing closer and closer, the ship's alarms were screaming warnings as the ship plummeted, Spike worked frantically to correct the course, but Faye was lost in another world. She didn't even stir when they crashed into the rocky surface of Europa.


	9. Darn That Dream

VIIII. Darn That Dream

Faye wandered through the twilight.

She was a little girl, six years old, and she was home sick from school. Faye secretly loved the mornings when she woke up with her throat tickling or her head aching. It meant that her mother would take the thermometer down from the bathroom shelf and slide the slick metal under her tongue. When Mom touched Faye's forehead, her hands were always cool and soft.

"You've got a fever," her mother murmured, frowning at the thermometer's illuminated display. "I'll call the school once Daddy leaves for work, okay?"

They always waited until Daddy left to call in sick. He thought that children should be tough and go to school no matter what. But Mom let her wear her pajamas all day and watch Curious George cartoons on the old VCR and eat chicken soup from a can. (Daddy said canned soup was bad for you.) When he was home, Mom never cooked anything, because they already had a maid and a chef. Still, Faye liked it better when Mom made macaroni from a box, or cookies from a tube, and the two of them would take their food onto their patio. They could see the lion fountain from their backyard.

Faye stretched like a cat under her fluffy pink comforter and waited in happy anticipation for Mom to bring her the medicine that tasted like cherry bubblegum. You could see the ocean from her bedroom, the sun slanting off the waves and casting soft dappled shadows on her walls. It made her feel sleepy and safe. Her blankets smelled like Mom's gardenia lotion. She pulled her stuffed bunny up to her chin and dozed off.

When Faye opened her eyes she was fourteen, running up the hill to her house, heart exploding with joy. She had just kissed Samuel Chang for the first time, right there under the hot May sun on the tennis courts at school. It was all too exciting. There were only three more weeks of eighth grade, and now she might have a real boyfriend over the summer! The kiss was everything she had ever dreamed of and more, but also weirder, and more thrilling, and somehow there was a lot more spit involved than she had expected? Fortunately, she was too ecstatic to mind his St. Bernard-like technique at the time. Fifty-something years later, she would realize, fondly, how terrible that kiss was. Her pleated navy skirt flapped over her bony knees as she dashed across the cobblestones, and her shiny Mary Janes chafed her ankles raw through her sagging knee socks.

Mom stood on the patio with a glass of white wine in one hand and a pair of pruning shears in the other. She was trimming her rose bushes and humming softly to herself as Faye burst through the wrought-iron gate. Her mother's dark hair glimmered in the sunshine, and her pointed nose (so similar to Faye's) sported a tiny smudge of dirt on the tip. She looked up at her daughter, smiling.

"Mom! Guess what just happened!"

The garden faded into blackness just as Faye reached her mother. She tried to draw a breath but couldn't. Something heavy and cold pressed down on her chest, slowing her heartbeat and weighing down her eyelids and filling her mouth with the tang of chlorinated pool water. Her arms felt like two sacks of cement. She couldn't think. What was happening to her? Garbled voices echoed through a layer of suffocating gel, and she struggled to catch snippets of what they said.

"...not expected to recover...with current medical technologies..."

"Her injuries are far too extensive. We can only delay certain inevitable..."

"...no surviving family that we know of..."

A woman sobbing. The ear-sucking sound of a vacuum being sealed. The sting of formaldehyde. Blobs of eerie turquoise and lavender, floating through the blackness like luminescent jellyfish. Sinking down, down, down, into the deepest ocean caves. A phantom underworld untouched by sunlight. Drowning. And then, finally, nothingness.

***

As the zipcraft hurtled into Europa's surface, Spike braced himself against the cockpit with one arm and flung out the other to catch Faye across her chest. They slammed into the rocky ground with a bone-rattling impact, and his head snapped forward and clipped the center console. Faye lay slumped against his arm as he raised his throbbing head, squinting into the smoke curling out of the control panel. Through the shattered cockpit, he saw a desolate rocky landscape. It was so profoundly dark here that the Milky Way stood out against the black sky like a splash of cloudy paint.

Miraculously, they were both relatively unharmed. Faye was still unconscious, but she seemed to have avoided any further injuries besides her souvenir gunshot from the casino guards. Spike gingerly probed his forehead and found a goose egg rising up against his hairline, but it didn't hurt too much yet. He placed two fingers on Faye's neck and found a pulse, slow but steady. Relieved for the moment, he set to work.

The front of the zipcraft had crumpled like a piece of tinfoil when it hit the ground. Spike yanked on the glove compartment, hoping that it would contain a first aid kit and emergency provisions of some kind. The compartment was collapsed on one side, but after a few moments of fierce tugging, Spike wrenched it open with a metallic screech. Inside, he found a small white box painted with a red cross, matches, a wadded-up plastic tarp, two sleeping bags stuffed into a polyester knapsack, a few packages of dehydrated chicken, granola bars, an empty plastic bottle, and a packet of water purification tablets.

Faye stirred slightly as Spike extricated her from her tangled safety harness. Scooping her easily into his arms, he lifted her out of the ship and set her on the ground.

"Hang on for one second," he told her, hopping back into the destroyed cockpit and gathering up the supplies in his arms. He deposited them on the pebbly ground next to Faye's prone form. Shaking out the mildewy tarp, he dislodged a few desiccated Martian lizard carcasses before draping it over the wing and the tail of the zipcraft like a tent. He unzipped both sleeping bags and laid them under the tarp, using one as a cushion for the ground and one as a top blanket. Lifting Faye once more, he took great care not to disturb her injured hip as he placed her gently on the piled sleeping bags. He grabbed the first aid kid and pulled her bloody leggings down on one side to inspect the bullet wound.

Faye flinched as he swabbed her hip with rubbing alcohol, but her eyes stayed shut. The wound was small and clean, but Spike needed to get the bullet out soon or she could risk a dangerous infection.

Faye's face was drawn with pain. A muscle twitched in her jaw and her eyes moved rapidly behind her lids.

"Faye, I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt for a minute," Spike told her, mentally preparing himself. "Just...grab my arm if it hurts too much. Nod once if you can hear me."

She raised her eyelids a fraction of an inch and nodded. Her skin looked frighteningly pallid in the starlight; he didn't want to think about how much blood she had lost.

Spike took a deep breath and grabbed a wicked-looking pair of tweezers out of the first aid kid. He drove them swiftly into the wound, hearing the clink of metal on metal as the tweezers made contact with the bullet. Faye yelped and thrashed but he kept going, gritting his teeth and trying to get a grip on the bullet as quickly as he could.

"'Almost done. One more second and it's over. I'm so sorry," he told her over and over, barely registering the sound of his own strained voice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, honey."

The bullet came free with a nauseating pop and Spike fell back on his heels, clutching the bloody bullet in the tweezers. He hurled it away from their campsite, cringing, and turned back to Faye. She had curled herself up into a ball, and he reluctantly straightened out her left leg to tend to it once more.

"Leave me alone," she rasped, her face twisted in agony. "Just leave it..."

Spike worked quickly, ripping open more alcohol-soaked wipes and swabbing down her bloody hip. He taped a bandage loosely over the whole thing. She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness.

"There. That's it. You did great," Spike told her, head swimming. He felt sour bile burning in his throat. Jumping to his feet, he stumbled backwards a few steps and vomited. He wiped his mouth with a shaking hand, resting his palms on his knees and breathing hard. Although he had dealt with far more gruesome injuries in the past, this felt different.

Faye's leggings were soaked through with blood, and after a moment of deliberation, Spike pulled them off carefully and and covered her with the sleeping bag. He wadded up the bloodstained pants and tossed them into the ship's ruined cockpit. Quietly, he lifted the blanket and sat down next to Faye, close enough to feel the heat emanating from her small body. He laid back, resting his weary head on his arms.

Gazing around their makeshift campsite, Spike tried to remember what he knew about Europa. He had never been on this asteroid before. It had a far smaller population than the other Jupiter moons, and the inhabitants were generally hard-living transient types, working in the desolate uranium mines for a few months at a time. There were only a few ramshackle towns here, and Spike recalled hearing dark murmurs amongst the Syndicate about miners driven mad by the radiation poisoning. He shuddered. Not a great place to hang out.

As Spike lay next to Faye, silently counting the seconds between her breaths, he realized that he had been awake for over two days straight. He would figure out a plan after he napped for a moment, he told himself; he just needed to rest for a few minutes. Ever so cautiously, he shifted himself a few inches closer to Faye. He reached for her feverish hand under the covers and held it, stroking her wrist with his thumb until his eyes closed.

***

Spike emerged from a deep sleep in the early morning. A frozen mist had settled over the two of them as they slept, and his face was covered in icy dew. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at Faye. Tiny beads of condensation clustered on her eyelashes and cheeks. Spike took a corner of the sleeping bag and wiped her face dry. Worryingly, her skin burned with fever even in the cool morning air. Spike pulled the covers off of his stiff legs and folded them over Faye, tucking them securely around her body as she slept. To keep her even warmer, he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Spike stood and stretched his sore limbs, gazing around the wreckage of the zipcraft. Weak sunlight filtered through patchy clouds onto the barren ground. The flat grey landscape stretched for miles in every direction as far as he could see. His head ached where he had hit it on the console, and his teeth felt like they had grown fur. He picked up the water purification tablets and the empty plastic bottle, walking slowly and scanning the surrounding area for any signs of water. Every few steps he glanced back at Faye as she slept. To his relief, he found a tiny stream of freezing water trickling down the side of a boulder about twenty feet away from their campsite. Crouching, he held the bottle up to the side of the rock for several minutes until it filled to the top. The water had a faint greenish tinge, but it smelled fine. Nothing that the purification tablets couldn't fix, and besides, they didn't have a choice. He dropped a tablet into the bottle and waited for it to fizz before he took a grateful swig. His body immediately responded with powerful thirst, and it took every ounce of his self-control to stop himself after a few swallows so he could give the rest to Faye.

He returned to the sleeping bags and gently shook Faye's shoulder. She opened her eyes blearily and threw an arm over her face to shield herself from the sunlight.

"Hey. Sorry to wake you up, but you should drink some water."

She groaned and rolled away from him. "Don't want any."

"You really need to drink something. You lost a lot of blood. You're dehydrated."

Faye attempted to sit up and fell back, gasping. Spike caught her by the shoulders.

"Take it easy," he said, lowering her back onto the sleeping bag. "You might not remember, but I just dug a bullet out of you."

Faye shot him a drowsy glare and reached for the bottle. She took a few noisy gulps, water spilling out of her mouth and trickling down her chin.

"It's worse than I thought," she mumbled, her eyelids lowering again.

"What is? Getting shot?" Spike asked, crossing his long legs next to her and screwing the lid back onto the bottle. He thought longingly of his cigarettes back on Mars and wondered if there were any in the cockpit.

Faye was silent for a moment. "No. Remembering."

Her breathing slowed and she was asleep again in a moment.

Spike sat watching her for a long time. He realized that he had never actually seen Faye asleep during all their time on the Bebop, even though she had certainly seen him passed out on the couch hundreds of times. The thought gave him a funny feeling in his gut, like he was witnessing something slightly illicit. She looked startlingly young to him as she slept, her chest rising and falling under the sleeping bags. He felt a sudden rush of protectiveness. Faye wasn't supposed to be lying on the ground with a gunshot wound on Europa. She should be playing cards and wearing beautiful clothes and enjoying herself somewhere nice. Life had not been fair to Faye, Spike thought, his stomach twisting with guilt.

***

What does it mean to be alive?

Breathing the fresh morning air. Embracing your lover. The thrill of skin on skin. Eating a ripe peach in the summer. Drinking until the world blurs soft and golden around the edges. Kissing unfamiliar lips for the first time. The last drag of a cigarette. Listening to jazz in a smoky cafe. The smell of rain on pavement. Walking home alone in the blue evening, your mind buzzing with unexplored ideas and unexpected pleasures. A quiet glance across a room.

Faye wanted to be alive. God damn, did she ever want to be alive. Robbed of her first existence in the strangest way, Faye fought valiantly to reclaim her second. If anyone deserved a little hedonism, it was her. Being frozen for fifty years was bullshit. She was young (sort of), and beautiful (definitely), and she wanted to drink and smoke and experience the entire galaxy. She wanted to fall in love. What was the point of living if you couldn't kiss the person you wanted to kiss?

These were the questions that Faye asked herself during her time on the Bebop. It was fun to gallivant through the cosmos as Poker Alice, separating idiots from their cash and getting into trouble left and right, but at the end of the day it was all meaningless. Her first life was over before it had a chance to begin, and she felt a vast emptiness in her heart. When the lanky, wild-haired cowboy sat down at her poker table for the first time all those months ago, her soul sang out in instant recognition. That's the one, it said. Right there in front of you. Grab him and don't let go! But, of course, it wasn't that easy. Was it ever? If there was one thing Faye could tell you, it was this: it's never that simple.

***

Spike wouldn't call himself an outdoorsy sort of guy. Given the choice, he preferred the climate-controlled interiors of spaceships and casinos. However, he had picked up a few tricks during his sojourns out to Laughing Bull's encampments over the years.

While Faye slept, Spike set about collecting dry twigs and dead shrubbery. It was a cool and breezy morning, and they would need a campfire to stay warm when the sun went down. He dumped his findings in a pile near the zipcraft and picked up the first aid kit. Kneeling next to Faye, he lifted up the bandage to check on her wound, swabbing it with an alcohol-soaked tissue and re-taping the bandage more securely. She barely moved as he worked, only opening her eyes for a second. When he finished tending to her hip, he brushed her hair off of her sweaty forehead, smoothing it behind her ears.

Spike didn't know why the zipcraft had malfunctioned and crashed last night. Most likely, the owner had built an anti-theft mechanism into the controls. He puttered around inside the cockpit, wondering if anything electrical had survived the crash. To his surprise, the built-in comm screen sputtered into life, and he navigated the controls expertly, flicking a switch to enable the GPS locator. Maybe he could find the signal of a nearby ship and call for help.

Almost immediately, the screen let out an ear-piercing ping, signaling an incoming message from another ship. Spike jumped at the sound, hitting his head on the ceiling. Swearing under his breath and massaging his head, he clicked on the blinking message notification.

CALLISTO 2 EUROPA

REPLY 777 FOR HELP

He frowned and tapped the reply button, typing out a message on the cracked keypad.

EUROPA TO CALLISTO

777

CRASHED AND NEED MEDICAL SUPPLIES

Right as Spike pressed send, the panel emitted a forlorn whirring sound and died, static zapping across the screen like lightning. He gave the cockpit a hopeful kick, but the shattered screen remained resolutely black.

The day passed slowly. Spike found a tattered deck of cards under the zipcraft's passenger seat and played solitaire for a few hours, checking on Faye whenever she stirred. Around noon, he woke her up to give her an ibuprofen pill and some water, and he opened a stale granola bar for himself. Chewing slowly, he wondered if his message had reached that ship on Callisto. With a lurch of guilt, he realized that Jet was probably arriving in Tharsis City right about now, too. Well, nothing he could do about that, Spike thought grimly as he shuffled the deck. Jet was going to be pretty pissed off.

The sunset turned the landscape into a ghost world, throwing long violet shadows across the boulders and the windswept foliage. Spike got the campfire started and tore open one of the packets of dehydrated chicken. It was an unappetizing gray, but Spike was starving. He stuck the bag on a branch and held it over the flames for a few minutes before his patience ran out. Pouring the contents of the pouch directly into his mouth, he wolfed it down in two swallows.

As he ate, Faye yawned loudly and propped herself up, squinting around and looking confused. Spike tossed the empty packet into the fire and padded over to her.

"Morning, sleepyhead. You slept all day."

"Sleepyhead?" she croaked, smirking. "Since when are you so nice to me?"

Spike scratched his nose, feeling vaguely embarrassed.

"Well, I...uh...forget it. Anyways. How are you feeling?

"I mean, I'm alive, I guess. What the hell happened?" she asked as she prodded her hip experimentally. A spasm of pain darted across her face in the flickering firelight.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She rubbed her eyes wearily. "Closet, casino, shooting, you stole a zipcraft...and that's about it. Did we crash? I thought I dreamed that part."

"Nope, unfortunately. We're on Europa. I tried to ping a ship on Callisto, but I dunno if it went through."

"Blech. Europa. Hope we don't get radiation poisoning," she said, wrinkling her nose and looking down at his blazer wrapped around her body. "Why am I wearing your coat? Where are my pants?"

"Oh. Sorry. You kind of bled a lot," Spike said, blushing, "so I had to take them off, and you were cold so I gave you my jacket."

"Huh. Thanks." She frowned. "I got shot, right?"

Spike nodded guiltily. "Yeah. I'm...really sorry about that."

Faye scoffed.

"What?" Spike said, offended.

"I just never thought I'd hear you apologizing for anything, Spiegel."

He didn't have a good comeback for that. Faye pulled the blankets up around her ears.

"Eh. Don't worry about it. Got anything to eat?" she asked hopefully. Spike got to his feet and went to fetch the food. As he heated up a chicken packet for her over the fire, she attacked the granola bars like a ravenous animal, eating four of them in less than a minute. Spike stared, too impressed to be angry.

"You know, each of those bars are meant to last you an entire day."

She shrugged, cheeks filled to the brim like a chipmunk."Too bad," she mumbled, crumbs spilling out of her mouth and onto the sleeping bag.

Spike rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

After they ate, Spike stoked the fire and Faye shuffled the deck of cards.

"I'm bored," she called over to him, tapping the deck with her long nails. "Wanna play gin rummy?"

Spike folded his long legs under himself and sat across from her on the blankets. She was still wearing his blazer, and he shivered in the damp evening air. Faye dealt their hands and they began to play as the Milky Way emerged in the sky.

"I thought you were my mom," Faye said as they played.

Spike glanced up at her, but she kept her eyes on her cards, a strange look on her face.

"Hmm?"

"Earlier. When you gave me that pill. I was dreaming about her."

"Do you...I mean, can you remember her? Now that your memories are back?"

She paused, one hand lingering on her cards. "Well...yeah. Sort of. They didn't all come back at once, you know. I get bits and pieces. Since you...left, there's been more and more."

Spike realized that he was holding his breath. Faye gave her head a little shake and played her next card.

"Well. Anyways. Thanks for taking care of me today," she said. Spike played his final hand and she crowed triumphantly, slamming her palms onto the blanket and scattering the cards.

"Ha! Bad move. I won!"

Spike threw up his hands in defeat. "You beat me again."

Faye laid back on the blankets and looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

"Jet's not going to be happy about this, is he?" she asked through an enormous yawn.

Spike laughed as he stoked the fire, gazing up at the crystal-clear stars.

"I'll buy him a couple of bottles of whiskey and a season pass to the Ganymede botanical gardens. He'll get over it eventually," Spike said, but Faye was already asleep. After refilling the water bottle at the slimy boulder, Spike tiptoed back to the sleeping bags and started another game of solitaire. All sixty-seven of Jupiter's moons rose as he played, crowding the sky with their pale faces.

***

Faye was awoken by a strange noise. Opening her eyes made the world tilt jarringly to one side, so she quickly squeezed her eyelids shut and listened closely instead. It was a low, rumbling, rhythmic noise, and her first thought was that she was back in her room on the Bebop and that she was hearing the ship's engines. Jet must have found her somehow. But as she listened for another moment, she realized that she was hearing someone snore. Well, that couldn't be right. She hadn't slept next to anyone in over fifty years. Cautiously, she cracked open one gritty eyelid and turned her head a fraction of an inch towards the sound.

Spike lay sleeping next to her in the darkness, flat on his back with his arms splayed overhead. His mouth was slightly open, and every time he exhaled, his hair fluttered off of his forehead. He was shirtless, and Faye spotted his yellow button-down, rumpled and tossed aside. The remnants of a campfire crackled nearby, the firelight casting a dim orange glow over Spike's bare chest.

Faye rolled over to get a better look at Spike, and a bolt of white-hot pain shot through her entire left side. She whimpered and grabbed her hip. It felt inflamed and warm to the touch under the bandage. Shit. Once Spike woke up, she would have to ask him if they had more ibuprofen or something. Faye was no doctor, but she wasn't stupid; she knew that she was in bad shape.

Impulsively, in spite of her discomfort, Faye leaned over and planted a kiss on Spike's stubbly cheek. He smiled faintly in his sleep. Faye felt certain that her breath could strip the paint off a wall at the moment, but she nestled her face into his neck and tried to reposition her hip in a tolerable way. Spike sighed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against his lithe body. Faye lay still, feeling her heart pound rapidly in her throat. She prayed that this wasn't a fever dream.

***

Spike was only pretending to sleep. He woke up as soon as he felt Faye's lips against his cheek. A rush of warmth flooded him from head to toe. Something told him to keep his eyes closed, and after a few seconds he felt her hair tickle his chin as she pressed her face into his neck. He held his breath for a long moment, and when it seemed as though she wasn't going anywhere, he embraced her. His body reacted obediently to the contact of Faye's skin against his, but for now, he just wanted to hold her close. To shield her from everything.

Unbidden, his eyes stung with tears, and he tightened his embrace. He kissed her sweet-smelling hair, her hot forehead, her smooth cheeks. Faye lifted her face to look at him, her dark eyes luminous in the starlight, and she kissed his mouth with a tenderness that he had never known. Spike returned the kiss, gently at first and then more insistently, running his hands across the small of her back, her uninjured hip, her sharp collarbones. Hesitantly, he slipped his hand under her shirt and cupped her velvety breasts. She made a small noise of approval in her throat and he pulled her shirt over her head. His body ached with anticipation at the sight of her. Faye kissed him deeply, nipping at his lower lip with her sharp little teeth and dragging her nails over his shoulder blades until he was trembling.

Spike paused, hovering over her shadowy face.

"Can you...uh, do this?" he asked her softly. "I don't want to hurt you."

Faye nodded and ran her small hand down his chest, past his hard stomach and into his boxers, caressing the sensitive skin of his upper thighs. He drew a shuddery breath and kissed her again, eagerly exploring her mouth with his tongue. Breaking away, she gave him a look that he would remember for the rest of his life.

"What are you waiting for, cowboy?" she whispered.

He exhaled sharply and kicked off his boxers, wondering if he was dreaming. It had been so long.

She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him down to meet her body. Spike gasped as he sank into her, trying his hardest to avoid hurting her hip. Faye closed her eyes, her mouth slightly open. A pink flush spread across her neck and cheeks. They moved slowly together, and Spike reached down to stoke between her legs. It thrilled him to hear her moan softly, biting her lip and pressing against his hand.

Spike wanted it to last forever, but he felt the core of molten heat building up in the pit of his stomach almost immediately. Shit, he thought, better think about something decidedly unsexy. Tearing his eyes away from Faye, he cast his gaze about the campsite for something to distract him for long enough to delay the inevitable. He spied the deck of cards splayed on the ground next to the blankets and pretended that he was playing solitaire in his mind's eye. Okay. Shuffle the deck. Five on a four. Queen on a Jack. He lasted another thirty seconds before his brain started waving a white flag back and forth, just as Faye reached up to take his earlobe in her mouth, running her hands through his hair. She cried out, arching her back, and all at once every sensation in his body came to a head and burst through him like fireworks. He rolled onto his back, panting.

Spike stared up at the tarp. He felt like he'd just been hit by a train. Turning his head slightly, he saw Faye looking just as shell-shocked beside him.

"Whoa," Spike began.

Faye nodded slowly. "No kidding. Wish we had cigarettes."

"Me too." He paused. "Are...um. Are you okay?"

He couldn't read the expression on Faye's face in the moonlight.

"Spike?" she asked, so quietly that he could barely hear her.

He looked at her, concerned.

"What's up?" he replied.

"Do you have any idea how long of a dry spell I've had?"

Spike waited, confused.

"I'm serious. I haven't gotten laid in...let's see...about, oh, fifty years." She began to snicker uncontrollably. "We wasted...so...much...fucking time...on the Bebop!"

Faye let out a snort as she laughed, stopping abruptly and looking embarrassed until Spike started to laugh too, softly at first, and then he couldn't stop as they both shook with laughter. He laughed until his gut ached and tears ran down his cheeks.

After a few minutes they quieted down and she settled herself close to him once more, laying her head on his shoulder. Spike held her and twirled the ends of her violet hair in his fingers. They were silent as they lay together under the night sky, intertwined under the lonely, distant stars and moons.


	10. Here's That Rainy Day

X. Here's That Rainy Day

Somewhere between Callisto and Europa, a rusty spaceship floated through the blackness. In the cockpit, a small figure sat mumbling happily to themselves, their fingers dancing over a keyboard. Every so often, the figure would toss a potato chip onto the floor, where it would immediately vanish as though it had been vacuumed. Europa's pockmarked surface drew closer, and the ship's pilot rubbed their hands together in glee.

***

Spike awoke to rain pattering against the tarp in the early morning. The sound of the raindrops hitting the plastic reminded him of typing on a keyboard, and that in turn made him think of dozing on the Bebop's couch while Jet worked on the computer. He yawned and stretched his long arms overhead, turning to look at Faye as she slept curled against his side like a cat. The fire had gone out in the rain overnight and his stomach growled with hunger, but it was so nice to lie here bundled up in the sleeping bags with Faye. He draped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, breathing in the smell of her hair: campfire smoke and jasmine. His eyelids lowered halfway and he drowsed pleasantly, lost in thought.

It had been such a long time since Spike had been physically close to someone. After Julia, he took home the occasional pretty bartender, but they never wanted to stick around after the deed was done. Only Julia had wanted to lie in his arms afterwards, tracing circles on his chest and whispering to him until he fell asleep.

When Faye first joined the Bebop, Spike wanted nothing to do with her. Yes, she was good-looking, but she was far too troublesome, too obnoxious, too nosy. Clearly, she was no match for Julia, he told himself firmly. He avoided Faye during the days, but each night his subconscious presented him with dream after dream about his new shipmate; Faye in her too-small yellow shorts, bending over as she washed the Redtail, Faye dangling her slim legs over the edge of the couch and blowing smoke up to the ceiling, Faye brushing against him in the hallway wearing nothing but her towel and setting his nerves aflame.

Just the memory of those dreams was enough to awaken his sleepy body. He moved his hips against Faye and stroked the silky skin of her lower back. She smiled and opened her eyes.

"The rain's nice," she murmured.

"Mmm," Spike agreed, kissing her neck and trailing his fingers across her stomach. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain intensified, splashing off the metal of the wrecked ship and pooling in the corners of the tarp. Faye kissed him slowly, one small hand cupping the back of his neck, the other brushing the fabric of his boxers until he could hardly stand it. She pulled back suddenly, grinning, and he leaned back helplessly.

"You don't even want breakfast first?" she asked, sitting up and wiping sleep out of her eyes. "Aren't you hungry? I'm starving."

"Breakfast can wait," Spike muttered. He ran his hand up her thigh and stopped between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat and she reached towards him, but he took her hand and kissed her fingers.

"You first," he said, pressing deeper.

A jagged bolt of lightning tore across the sky. Sheets of silver rain pelted the gloomy landscape. Faye tilted her head back and called out his name. 

***

The old doctor Mateo sat at the end of a burnished oak conference table. The Red Dragons had called him to their Tharsis headquarters, sequestered in the heart of the tallest skyscraper in the city. Soaring glass windows spanned the walls, and three syndicate men in dark suits stood looking over the cityscape with their backs to Mateo as he sat, anxiously worrying a hangnail with his teeth. Two muscle-bound bodyguards flanked the doors, occasionally muttering into their earpieces. Mateo glanced at the machine guns strapped across their chests and gulped audibly.

The tallest man spoke.

"Doctor, we were told that this tracking chip would have lasted for over thirty years," he said curtly. Mateo started slightly and cleared his throat.

"Yes, that's absolutely correct. When inserted correctly, it should remain undetected in the subject."

The tallest man turned to face him, his expression unreadable behind his mirrored sunglasses.

"Can you explain to us why the tracking signal was lost three days ago?"

Mateo squirmed in his seat.

"Well, it's highly unlikely, but there have been instances of chips malfunctioning due to radiation," he said. "However, the levels of radiation required to scramble the chip would be incompatible with human life."

Mateo paused, his eyes unfocused as he gazed through the windows. Skyscrapers yawned against the hazy afternoon sky, their spires piercing the wispy layer of clouds.

"Radiation...is it possible that he's on Europa?"

The tall man whispered something to his coworkers and turned to face Mateo again. "Doctor, do you understand how essential it is that we relocate the signal?"

Mateo nodded fervently.

"Did we explain what happens to people who don't do their job correctly for the syndicate?"

Mateo's mouth went dry, his ratlike face crumpling in fear.

"Loud and clear, sir. I understand. There must have been some sort of malfunction. My deepest apologies - "

The tall man whipped out his pistol and held it to Mateo's temple. He flinched and suppressed a gasp.

"Find out what happened to Spike Spiegel. Now. Do it fast or there won't be any medicine in the world that can help you, Doctor." He cocked the gun with an ominous click. Mateo cried out and squeezed his eyes shut, reciting a silent prayer.

Just as suddenly as he'd pulled out his gun, the tall man released Mateo and pocketed the pistol once more, smoothing the front of his blazer, eerily calm and professional once more. Mateo sat trembling, his palms sweating onto the slick surface of the wooden table.

"You can leave," the tall man told him, his voice dangerously quiet. "Now, before I change my mind and shoot your brains out."

Mateo scrambled to his feet and exited swiftly, careening into one of the huge bodyguards on his way out.

***

An odd feeling overtook Faye as she watched Spike doze through the rainy morning. After they made love again, he had fallen asleep immediately, but she felt a strange sense of melancholy and laid awake, watching the streams of rainwater trickle off the sides of the tarp.

She had wondered for years what it would feel like to kiss Spike, to be held by him, to sleep with him. When they first met, he had seemed so...unattainable, somehow; she was used to men melting like butter in her hands after they took one look at her. Spike, however, was a tough nut to crack. He seemed totally uninterested in her, which only made her want him more. When she first heard about Julia, a bitter jealousy enveloped her, and when she met Julia herself, she understood exactly why Spike had loved her so much. Julia was everything that she would never be: cool, blonde, unflappable, elegant. Compared to her, Faye felt loud-mouthed and messy and obscene. It was no wonder why Spike had preferred Julia, really.

And now Julia was dead.

Faye didn't want to examine some of the deeply nasty thoughts lurking just below the surface of her mind, but she couldn't deny that they were there. The truth was that a small, hidden, shameful part of her couldn't help but feel relieved that Julia had gone to where Spike couldn't find her. In her heart, Faye knew that she would always play second fiddle to Julia; an acceptable replacement, perhaps, but a stand-in nonetheless.

Spike sighed in his sleep and rolled over to face her. Faye brushed his snarled hair away from his face and gently stroked his cheek. She remembered doing this when he was injured on the Bebop, savoring the closeness while he was too out of it to notice her. Those were the moments when she had realized that she was in love with him.

Faye laid her head on his bare chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath.

"What on earth are we going to do, Spike?" she whispered.

***

Jet arrived in Tharsis City after a hellish 72-hour flight from Pluto. He broke more than a few speeding laws as he barreled through the gates, and every maintenance light in the Bebop's cockpit flashed angrily as he steered the ship towards the Golden Woolong. Couldn't Spike have picked a slightly less godforsaken place to rendezvous? Typical Spike, he griped to himself. Always so dramatic. The Martian wilderness outside of the city was startlingly bleak, and he crossed his fingers that the Bebop would make it a few more miles to the casino. The fuel tank had been hovering just below empty since he passed Jupiter. Miraculously, the ship survived the final stretch and he reached the casino just as the sun was setting, a vivid flame against the crimson horizon.

"Okay, Spike-O, let's get this show on the road," Jet muttered, easing the Bebop onto the top level of the concrete parking garage. Spike had asked him to wait outside of the casino until he called, and Jet hadn't heard from him yet today. Hopefully he wouldn't get any parking tickets, even though the Bebop was outlandishly over-large for the parking spots.

Jet waited for almost an hour before growing impatient and throwing open the entrance hatch. The last rays of the setting Martian sun glinted off of the iron firmaments of the enclosed parking garage, and sweat popped out underneath his arms almost immediately as he paced the asphalt. Opening his comm, he punched in the number Spike had given him and listened to ten, eleven, twelve dial tones before hanging up.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted several police cruisers hovering in midair below the lurid neon signs of the casino. He pocketed his comm and walked down the glass-enclosed hallway to the casino entrance. A heavyset cop sat lounging in the cockpit with his feet on the dashboard, totally engrossed in polishing off a pink-frosted doughnut. Jet waved to him and flashed his ISSP badge. The cop's ruddy face lit up with delight and he hastily crammed the remainder of the doughnut into his mouth. He stepped out of the cruiser onto the walkway, opening the entrance hatch with a whoosh of climate-controlled air.

"Jet! How the hell are you?" the cop cried, brushing a few rogue sprinkles off of his bulletproof vest. He extended a meaty hand and Jet shook it, smiling.

"Theo. I thought that was you! How's the force treating you these days?"

"Oh, you know how it is. Just counting down the days until retirement!"

Jet forced a laugh. "Listen, Theo, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here. What's with all the fuzz?"

Theo sighed, his pudgy midsection straining the seams of his uniform. "Didn't you hear? We had a shooting the other day. Some syndicate drama. Red Dragons. Apparently it was a set-up and they nailed someone at a roulette table. Had to evacuate the whole place."

Though his pulse quickened, Jet kept his tone even as he replied.

"Damn, didn't hear about that. So you're just keeping an eye on things?"

Theo nodded mournfully. "And this week was supposed to be my vacation. Me and Cheryl were all set to go spend a week at one of those Venusian resorts. She's pissed."

"Too bad. Well, let me know if you need a hand with anything," Jet told him, turning back towards the parking garage and raising a hand in farewell. Theo hopped ungracefully back into his hovering cruiser and pulled out another doughnut.

Jet waited until he walked back to the parked Bebop to unleash a stream of blindingly foul expletives, kicking a tire in utter frustration. A bolt popped out of a socket as he did so and he let out a mirthless bark of a laugh. The trail was cold, someone had gotten shot at the casino, he had no way to reach either Spike or Faye, and the Bebop was shot to hell and needed millions of Woolongs worth of repairs. Great. Just great. Were Spike and Faye even still alive? He had no way of knowing unless they could track him down.

He spotted a gas station a few miles away, its feeble electric lights shining through the heady Martian twilight. The Bebop needed refueling if he wanted to go more than ten feet in any direction, but he was out of cash, too. Jet rummaged in his pants pockets and pulled out two grimy poker chips, forgotten from some long-ago gambling excursion with Spike.

Well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do at the moment. Jet wiped the chips on his shirt to clean the crud off of them and headed towards the casino doors. His eyes may not have been as sharp as Spike's, and he wasn't a card shark like Faye, but the slot machines had always seemed to favor him. He chucked ruefully to himself and walked through the casino's automatic doors, clutching the poker chips in his mechanical hand.

***

The rain stopped around sundown, and Faye was officially in a bad mood. They were out of first aid supplies, and her bandage was almost soaked through with blood. Her bullet wound felt like it was on fire. Even worse, they were out of food. Their camping trip was quickly losing its charm. Humid steam rose from the ground, clinging to their skin and clothing like a shroud. In lieu of a sunset, the sky faded into a sickly shade of mustard yellow.

Spike prowled the perimeter of the campsite, searching for edible plants. The organisms that managed to survive in this terrain were scrubby, miserable-looking little things, and nothing looked appetizing. He didn't want to let on to Faye that he was beginning to panic, but they needed to get out of here, fast. He assumed that the message from the ship on Callisto had been some kind of mistake or scam, and he was bracing himself for the possibility of a long trek to the nearest settlement.

He walked back to Faye and slouched on the blanket next to her.

"We might have to get moving today," he said. Faye groaned.

"Do you really expect me to get far like this?" she asked, grimacing. "I know you like to tough out your gunshot wounds, but this really hurts."

Spike leaned back on the blankets and closed his eyes. "I know, but we have no choice. We need food, and you need a doctor."

Faye grumbled something under her breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

"Whatever you say."

Faye was silent for a moment, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Spike opened one eye and looked at her.

"Well, spit it out," he said.

She repositioned herself and cringed, grabbing her hip. "Oh, I don't know, Spike, it's just that I don't know why I didn't see something like this coming," she said. "Ow! Fuck."

Spike sucked in a breath between his teeth. "And what's that supposed to mean, exactly?"

Faye rolled her eyes. "Just that I should have known better than to expect anything to work out with you, Mr. Catastrophe. The minute you show up again everything goes to hell."

"That's pretty rich coming from you, Faye. I can't even count the number of bounties you ruined - "

"That I ruined? Huh, I seem to remember having to rescue your ass most of the time, Spike!"

Spike crossed his arms and scowled. "Yeah, well - "

"Even when you were chasing after your precious _Julia_ all the time, I still came and bailed you out. Or do you not remember that part?"

"Don't talk about her," Spike said harshly, "don't say her name - "

"Shut up!" Faye hissed suddenly, her eyes widening in terror. Startled, Spike paused, and she gestured wordlessly at something behind him. He whipped around and saw a bulky figure lumbering towards them. He leapt to his feet, drawing his gun.

"Dammit - stay there, Faye - " he called back at her as she stood up laboriously, panting slightly and clutching her side. The figure drew closer, shimmering slightly in the twilight mist.

"Who are you? Show yourself," he yelled. "Don't come any closer." His heart raced and he steadied his hands around the cold metal of his Jericho. "I'm armed!"

He fired a warning shot into the sky. The figure jumped slightly but continued to approach their campsite. When the figure was about twenty feet away, it began to unzip its heavy spacesuit. A muffled bark emitted from the depths. Spike and Faye stood frozen and wary, utterly confused.

The figure yanked off an enormous helmet to reveal untamed firetruck-red hair. It let out an ear-piercing screech of joy. With a final yank of a zipper, the front of the spacesuit fell open and a fat Corgi tumbled onto the damp ground, yelping with excitement and wagging its stubby tail frantically.

"Spike-person! Faye-Faye! I found you! I did it!"

Ein danced around their feet, hysterical with excitement. Faye reached down to scratch behind his ears absent-mindedly, staring at Ed as the girl extricated herself from the huge spacesuit. She sprinted forward and wrapped Spike's leg in a tight embrace.

"Ed...how the hell...what are you doing here?" Spike asked in a dazed voice, patting the girl on the head awkwardly. Ed released his leg and beamed up at him.

"Ed was the ship on Callisto that pinged you! Ed has been tracking you down for months now! The chip in Spike-person's arm was easy to encrypt. Easy, peasy, lemon-squeezy!"

Spike and Faye stared at her, dumbfounded.

"You were on...wait, how'd you find...er, what chip, Ed?" Faye asked weakly.

Ed giggled. "The tracking chip in his arm, silly! Ed found it three months ago!" She started to run in circles around the campsite, humming to herself. Ein yipped ecstatically and sprinted after her.

Faye shot Spike a quizzical look and he shrugged, running a hand through his hair. When Ed lapped them again, Spike grabbed her by the neck of her shirt and held her still.

"Slow down for a second, Ed. What exactly is this chip you're talking about?"

Ed tap-danced in place while Spike held her by the collar.

"Someone put a tracking chip in Spike's arm. Too small to feel! Tiny, little, itty-bitty, eensy-weensy - "

Faye groaned. "Ed, please. Focus!"

"Why do I have a chip in my arm, Ed? How did it get there?"

Spike pressed.

"Did anyone poke Spike-person with a needle recently?"

A distant memory of the old doctor Mateo approaching him with a syringe swam to the surface of his mind.

"But he told me it was to help with the nausea..." Spike muttered. "Yeah, someone gave me a shot a few months ago. So you think that's the chip?"

Ed nodded, her face serious for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. She skipped over to where Faye stood propped against the wrecked ship and threw her arms around her.

"Careful, kid, watch the hip," Faye said, wincing. In spite of herself, she reached down and ruffled Ed's fluffy hair. "So where's your ship, Ed?"

Ed grinned. "Crashed! Ed had to walk and walk and walk to find you. Ein got too tired."

Faye and Spike shared a worried look.

"Are you okay, Ed?" Spike asked. "Are you hurt?"

Ed shook her head forcefully. "Ship is all smushed, but Ed is fine! All in one piece."

Spike took a deep, steadying breath and rubbed his forehead. Now he had to worry about a woman, a kid, and a dog. Perfect.


	11. Star Eyes

XI. Star Eyes

There were certain things that Faye truly hated in this world: weak drinks, running out of cigarettes, shoddy blackjack dealers, the song "Yellow Submarine" (an Earth memory she would have gladly forgotten for all eternity), the smell of anchovies, and physical exercise. Maybe it was the aftereffects of whatever they had pumped her full of during her cryogenic sleep, but she didn't seem to need move her body around the way other people did. Sure, she might look a little bloated after eating all of her packets of dehydrated chocolate and salt during the times when she was stranded in the Redtail, but after a good night's sleep she always woke up svelte. Faye didn't have great luck in other aspects of her life, but at least she didn't have to go to the gym. Even in her previous life, she disliked exertion of any sort (well, maybe there was one exception to that rule, she thought wryly.) Needless to say, she really, really hated hiking.

Spike and Faye packed up their makeshift campsite shortly after Ed and Ein's startling reappearance, wadding up the blankets and tarp into hobo-style bags and slinging them over their shoulders. They struck out from the wrecked zipcraft as night was falling over the eerie moonscape. Faye had made it approximately ten seconds into the trek before her hip wound made walking impossible, and Spike heaved a beleaguered sigh and hoisted her onto his back. Ed and Ein danced merrily alongside the two of them, sprinting erratically in dizzying circles and chasing tumbleweeds.

"How much farther can it possibly be?" Faye groused into Spike's ear as they trudged through the Europa wilderness.

"Believe it or not, Faye, but I have absolutely no idea where the hell we are," Spike panted through clenched teeth. "But there's gotta be a town somewhere around here," he continued, pausing to yank Faye's legs more securely around his waist. She yelped in pain as he jostled her hip. Her bloodied leggings had dried into something that felt like stiff sandpaper, and they chafed against her irritated skin painfully with every step that Spike took.

"Watch it," she hissed, digging her nails into his collarbone. Spike cleared his throat and said nothing. The landscape looked bone-white under the glare of Jupiter's herds of moons, and the chilly air smelled faintly metallic.

"Ein wants a piggyback ride!" Ed sang, tripping over a rock as she walked. "And Ed! Ed wants one too!"

"Sorry, Ed, you only get one if you got shot," Faye grumbled.

"Ah, be nice to her," Spike said through a yawn. "She's just a kid. Hey, Ed, what were you doing on Callisto, anyways?"

"Ed was looking for Spike-person and Faye," she replied distantly. "Ed already told you. Ed found the tracker in your arm."

Spike nodded. "Yeah, but why were you on Callisto in the first place? How did you get there?"

Ed gazed thoughtfully at the night sky, the stars reflecting in her wide eyes.

"Ed has friends on Earth who ask her to run errands," she said. "But Callisto was fun! Lots of snow! Ed wanted to stay and play in the snow. Missed the return flight, played in the snow all night, everything was all right!" Ed finished, nodding succinctly. Her raucous red hair flapped against her ears, and in the past few months she had clearly experienced a growth spurt, leaving her a few inches taller and even ganglier and goofier than before. Faye muffled a laugh into Spike's back, feeling a sudden upwelling of affection for the strange girl.

They walked in silence for what felt like hours, the moonlight throwing their long shadows against the rocky prairie. Faye leaned against Spike's shoulder and felt her eyelids flutter with exhaustion. Just as she began to drift into a dream, Ed's frantic voice cut through the silence.

"Spike-person! Look! Lights!" Ed cried, pointing up ahead. Faye stirred and opened her scratchy eyelids as Spike ground to a halt. She squinted in the direction Ed pointed, and sure enough, the lights of a town gleamed in the distance.

"I think I can walk for a while," Faye told Spike, tapping his shoulder.

"If you say so," he replied, hunching down and letting her off. "Are you sure? Don't be a martyr."

Faye rolled her eyes, trying to conceal the throbbing pain that filled her hip the moment her foot touched the ground. "I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

Ed bolted ahead in excitement, and Spike turned to Faye with concern in his eyes.

"Seriously. We still have a ways to go. Are you sure you can handle walking? You don't look so hot." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked.

"I said I'm fine, okay?" Faye snapped, ducking away from his embrace and limping ahead of him.

They walked until every muscle in Faye's body screamed in protest. If she didn't get a drink soon, she was going to implode like a dying star. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the town grew closer. Spike's face was ashen and drawn with exhaustion, and he was lugging Ein along like an armful of furry lumber. The fat Corgi had simply given up a few miles ago and refused to budge another inch. Even Ed's boundless enthusiasm was waning; she dragged her feet and sang quiet sad songs in a secret language to herself.

Just when Faye had decided that maybe dying right here and now would be an acceptable alternative to walking one more step, they found themselves standing on the outskirts of a tiny mining town. Warehouses lined the bleak streets, floodlit by harsh fluorescent streetlights. The buildings were low and sloping, reinforced with metal walls designed to withstand brutal winters and radiation. A flickering neon 'VACANCY" sign hung over the doorway of one of the buildings. In silence, the three of them walked up to the doorway and paused, glancing at the heavy iron barricade over the door. A handwritten Sharpie sign reading 'RING BELL' was taped above a buzzer in the gate.

"Is this…a hotel?" Faye asked nervously. Ed hung back behind the adults, unnerved, but Spike shrugged.

"Worth a shot. It's not safe for us to be in this radiation for this long. You and I are probably okay, but it's not fair for Ed to be exposed to it."

Faye nodded, casting a guilty glance in Ed's direction.

"Besides, we need to sleep in real beds tonight, and you need a doctor, Faye. Listen, we'll tell them that Ed's our kid and we crashed our zipcraft on our way to our vacation on Venus. Got it?"

Ed saluted him and clicked her heels together. "Ahoy, matey!"

Faye gave Spike a disdainful look. "Spike, nobody will believe that we're old enough to have a kid Ed's age."

"Ed, how old are you, anyways?" Spike asked the girl. Ed gave a mystified shrug. "Eh, we'll just tell 'em she's got some kind of disorder that made her grow up too fast and she's actually a toddler," he continued.

Faye snorted. "Some kind of Benjamin Button thing. Like they're gonna believe that."

"What?" he asked distractedly, running a hand through his hair.

"Never mind," she told him, pressing the buzzer. The intercom crackled into life with a rush of static.

"Welcome to the Moonlight Inn," a voice rasped through the speakers. "How many?"

Spike hesitated. "Uh, three. And do you take dogs?"

"Nope," the voice replied, sounding bored.

"Oh, well, that's fine," Spike replied hurriedly, "just asking for a friend here," he said, opening his hobo-bag of tarp, shoving Ein inside of it and retying it, "but do you have a room for three people tonight?"

"Sure. Three thousand Woolongs per night. Show me the money up front, no guns, no funny business."

Spike scratched his head and leaned closer to the intercom.

"See, here's the thing…I'm traveling with my wife and my child" - Faye shot him an incredulous eye roll - "and you see, our zipcraft malfunctioned and crashed on our way to Venus, and my wife's been hurt. If there's any way we could just - "

"No money, no room," the voice droned. Ein gave a stifled yelp from inside the tarp wad and Faye patted him through the fabric anxiously.

Spike gritted his teeth. "I'll pawn a Jericho," he said. Faye's eyes widened. For a moment they heard nothing but static emitting from the speaker, and then the gate unlocked itself with a thunderous clunk and the thick door swung open.

"Get in quick and shut the door behind you," the voice instructed. Motioning for Faye and Ed to follow him, Spike sidled through the doorway and pulled it shut as soon as the other two were inside. They found themselves in a musty-smelling foyer lit by a single flickering lightbulb hanging from a wire. A heavyset woman wearing a filthy gray sweatshirt sat behind a desk, thumbing through a magazine. She looked up as they approached and pulled a key out of a drawer.

"Lemme see the gun," she instructed, gesturing towards Spike. Resignedly, he drew it from his pocket and set it on the desk. She gave it a quick once-over and nodded appraisingly, handing Spike the key.

"Room 37. Third floor, stairs are to the right. You can stay four nights and that's it. If the manager asks, you paid in full, got it?"

Spike nodded and pocketed the key. "Got it."

They started up the dimly lit stairwell, Faye dragging her wounded leg behind her with every step. Ed bounded in front of the adults, her spirit renewed at the prospect of sleeping in a bed.

Spike unlocked the door and suppressed a groan. The room was small and dingy, with only one double bed in the middle of the brown carpet. A narrow window was obscured by moth-eaten lace curtains, and the wallpaper was a claustrophobic shade of violet. Faye peered over his shoulder and swore under her breath, but Ed squealed with delight and darted between the two of them. She leapt onto the bed, turning somersaults and jumping into handstands as the mattress squeaked.

"Guess we're bunking up tonight," Spike muttered as he untied the tarp and dumped Ein unceremoniously onto the carpet. Faye collapsed onto the bed with her arms over her face, shoving Ed aside as the girl landed in a heap onto the pillows, giggling maniacally. Spike opened the rusted mini fridge and pulled out a bar of chocolate, a tiny bottle of gin and a can of soda. He twisted open the gin and drank half of it in one swallow before handing it over to Faye, who knocked it back instantly and tossed the empty bottle onto the nightstand. Breaking the chocolate in half, he handed the biggest chunk to Ed and split the second into two smaller pieces for himself and Faye to share.

"Dinner is served," he told the girls as they inhaled the chocolate. The three of them shared the can of flat soda, too thirsty to speak as they gulped it down. Ein whined at their feet and stared balefully at the chocolate wrapper. Spike raised his eyebrows at the Corgi.

"No chocolate for dogs, Ein. I thought you were smart."

Spike found a grimy remote and turned on the outdated television, leaning back on the pillows next to Faye as she lay on her side with her eyes shut. As he flicked through the channels of low-budget Europa soap operas and newscasts in Russian and public access announcements about the signs of radiation poisoning, Ed traipsed into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Spike frowned.

"Do you remember her ever taking a shower on the Bebop?" he asked Faye. She made a noncommittal noise and pulled the comforter over her legs. Ed's nonsense singing rang out over the sound of the running water.

"What's your deal?" he asked, lowering his voice. "We made it, didn't we?"

Faye pretended to sleep. Spike shrugged and turned up the volume on a Ganymede game show, trying his hardest not to imagine how good a cigarette would taste at this exact moment.

***

Sometime in the middle of the night, Spike awoke with a start, wedged into the corner of the bed by Ed's sprawling limbs and Ein's slobbery snores. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Faye curled up in the windowsill, peering through the lace curtains at the moonlit street below. He eased himself out of bed and crossed the room.

"Can't sleep?"

Faye jumped slightly as he spoke and made a shushing gesture, pointing towards Ed.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." He pulled the room's sole chair over to the windowsill and sat in it backwards, leaning his chin on the chair's back and facing Faye.

"So do you wanna explain why you're so mad at me?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Sure seems like it," he said lightly. "Why won't you talk to me?"

She was quiet for a moment, her green eyes luminous in the moonlight.

"It's just that…"

Spike waited, listening to the rhythmic snuffles and snorts of their roommates.

"I just…don't like being second best to anyone," she finished. Spike froze, an uncomfortable weight settling in his stomach.

"What are you talking about?"

Faye scoffed. "You know exactly who I'm talking about."

"I really don't," he replied tersely.

"Come on, Spike. I'm talking about Julia," she said, her voice rising. Ed stirred in her sleep, and they both watched as the girl rolled over and began to snore once more.

"I…why are you bringing her up right - "

"I'm not interested in being her replacement," she said, a dark shadow crossing her face.

Spike fell silent, feeling his heart thud against his rib cage. He had wondered when this would come up. Time to show his cards.

"Do you know what I thought about when I woke up?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What, this morning? Breakfast, probably, or cigarettes, or - "

"No. When I woke up from the coma, or whatever it was. After I went to kill Vicious."

He paused and looked at his bare feet, collecting his thoughts.

"I thought about you, Faye." He could feel his palms sweating. "I…I thought about when you took care of me all of those times on the Bebop. I thought I could hear you singing." He paused, sneaking a glance at her face. She frowned and continued to stare out of the window.

"You said my singing was out of tune," she mumbled.

"Well, it was, but…at first I thought I was dead, but then I thought I heard you and your terrible singing and…I wanted to be alive. So I woke up and pulled the tube out of my throat."

Faye glared at him, but something in her face seemed to soften. Spike took a deep breath.

"Listen, Faye…I'm no good at this kind of stuff. But what I'm trying to say is that I didn't have to come back to this life. I could have easily stayed away forever. And I didn't come back to find Jet, or Ed, or Ein…you know that."

"You hid from me for months."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You ran away from me on the street."

"…Yeah. I'm sorry - "

"You let me get kidnapped!"

Spike winced. "Okay, that was definitely a bad one, but - "

"And you left me on the Bebop. If you wanted to be with me, why did you leave me there?" Faye asked, her voice cracking on the final word. A tear ran down her pale face. She let it drip onto the windowsill, and Spike was lost for words at last.

He got to his feet and put his arms around her, pressing his face into her soft neck. She sat perfectly still, not returning his embrace but not pushing him away either.

"Never leave me again," she whispered fiercely. Spike nodded and held her closer, kissing the hollow of her sharp collarbone. He closed his eyes and slumped against her warm body.

"Do you know how many nights I spent with Julia?" he murmured. He felt her shake her head, her chin brushing his hair. "Five. Five lousy nights, and she was my best friend's girlfriend."

"Really? Five nights?"

"Yeah. Pretty pathetic, isn't it? I couldn't even bring myself to tell Vicious, man-to-man. He caught us together before I grew the balls to do it. Of course, Vicious turned out to be a real piece of shit, but that's another story."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't exactly a gentleman to me either, if you recall," Faye muttered.

"Right…sorry about that, too," Spike said, kissing her neck. She shivered and wrapped her arms around him. "But at any rate, for what it's worth, Julia…didn't love me, I think."

"But you loved her. Don't lie."

"I thought I did. I used to."

"And then what?" Faye asked.

"I think you know the answer."

She pulled away and looked him squarely in the eye.

"And then what?" she repeated.

"Oh…it's a long story. Some chick beat me at blackjack," he said. Faye made an exasperated sound, but her lower lip trembled and another tear rolled down her face. Spike wiped it away with a finger and kissed her for a long moment in the moonlight. She rested her head on his shoulder, and as Spike turned his head to reposition himself in a more comfortable way, he found himself face-to-face with Ed standing two inches away from them. He stifled a yell and leapt to his feet.

"Ed - Jesus Christ - how long have you been standing there?" Faye gasped. Ed smiled sleepily and rubbed her eyes, her red hair plastered to one side of her head and sticking straight up on the other.

"Ed heard Faye-Faye talking and woke up. Are you fighting?" Ed asked, scratching her knee with her other foot and gazing blearily at them.

"No, Ed, go back to bed," Spike said reassuringly. "We're just chatting. We'll keep it down."

Ed nodded drowsily and curled up on the corner of the bed like a cat, resting her head on Ein's furry middle. Spike breathed deeply through his nose as his heart rate returned to normal. Faye got to her feet, pulling a pained face as she tested the weight on her injured leg.

"You can take the bed and get some sleep," Spike told her, sitting back onto the chair.

"You sure?" Faye asked, sliding under the covers and pushing Ein aside with her foot.

"Yeah, we can trade off in the morning," Spike said, stretching his long arms overhead and leaning backwards.

Faye chuckled as she adjusted the pillows.

"What's so funny?" Spike asked with his eyes closed.

"Oh, I dunno," Faye said, her eyelids lowering, "I just had a memory of hearing my parents arguing while I was supposed to be in bed. Kinda feels like we're a weird little family on vacation somewhere."

Before Spike could think of a suitable reply, Faye was asleep. He dozed off in the uncomfortable chair, jerking awake every so often to massage the crick in his neck. After twenty minutes of fighting sleep, he gave up and slid under the blankets next to Faye. He pictured Jet's reaction if he were to see the group of them squashed into one bed and snorted.

Right before his thoughts drifted into slumber like dandelion fluff scattered in the wind, he had a sudden and vivid mental image of himself cradling something small in his arms. The image wove through his dreams as he slept.


	12. Someone To Watch Over Me

XII. Someone To Watch Over Me

Faye awoke the next morning with one idea firmly implanted in her mind: the need for a long, peaceful, scaldingly hot shower. Feeble sunlight filtered in through the hotel room's yellowed lace curtains, throwing latticed patches of darkness and light onto the faces of her sleeping companions; Spike snored to one side of her with his arms flung over his head, Ed sprawled horizontally across the foot of the bed, smiling in her sleep, and Ein had somehow claimed a pillow for himself, drooling and occasionally twitching his foot as he dreamed his doggy dreams. Faye quietly untangled herself from the blankets and padded into the bathroom, locking the door securely behind herself and ripping off her filthy clothing. She turned on the shower and cranked it as hot as it would allow. Feeling shivery as she stood naked in front of the mirror, she shuddered as she glimpsed the reflection of her wounded hip, bruised green and purple around the bullet wound.

Faye stepped into the shower and sighed with pleasure, closing her eyes and silently praising whatever technological advances had made hot water heaters a reality on Jupiter's moons. Even the sulphuric tang of the water couldn't diminish her enjoyment as she scrubbed away the layers of dirt, blood, and sweat. She washed her hair three times, used half a bar of soap, brushed her teeth until her gums ached, and cautiously cleaned her injured hip. As she showered, she replayed everything that had happened since the last time she had bathed almost a week ago: finding Spike alive, getting kidnapped, getting shot, crashing on Europa, Ed and Ein's reappearance, kissing Spike, sleeping with Spike, telling Spike things that she had only dreamed of telling him.

It was enough to make her head spin, and she began to feel dizzy and nauseous as she turned off the water and wrapped a threadbare towel around herself. Throwing her filthy clothes into the bathtub, she squeezed a squirt of shampoo onto them and swished them back and forth a few times. Once they seemed cleaner, she wrung them out and hung them to dry on the towel rack. She heard a knock on the bathroom door and hitched the towel higher around her chest.

"Faye-Faye, Ed really needs to pee!" Ed yelled through the door, sounding like she meant it.

"Just a minute," Faye called back, unlocking the door. Ed and Ein bolted inside in a flash of brown fur and red hair, and Faye walked unsteadily back into the bedroom to find Spike opening his eyes and squinting as a narrow beam of sunlight crossed his tired face.

"S'matter with you?" he asked hoarsely, peering into her face as she sat on the edge of the bed, wringing moisture out of her hair onto the dirty carpet below.

"Hmm?" Faye replied absently, staring fixedly at a patch of floral wallpaper.

"You look like you're about to hurl," Spike yawned as he sat up in bed. "How's your hip doing? Let me take a look," he continued, reaching towards her towel.

"Let's do it later," Faye said, her vision blurring in front of her face as she watched the flowers on the wallpaper shrink and grow in odd bulging patterns. "I think I'm gonna - "

Before she could finish her sentence, Spike rocketed out of bed and grabbed the empty ice bucket that was sitting on the mini fridge. Faye took it from him and waited, wracked with nausea, but after a moment the sensation passed and she laid back onto the pillows, trembling and sweaty.

"Nothing?" Spike asked, watching her warily. Faye shook her head and pulled the blankets up around her ears. "Shit. You're really sick, aren't you?" he continued, getting out of bed and pulling on his dusty jacket.

Ed flung open the bathroom door and catapulted herself back into the bedroom, Ein trotting behind her.

"Ed is starving! Breakfast time," she crowed, a glob of toothpaste stuck to her t-shirt. Faye's head throbbed at the sound of Ed's voice, and she dragged a pillow over her face.

"Faye, you don't have your money card, do you?" Spike asked, digging in his pants pockets. "I have - let's see - about four hundred seventy and that's it," he said, staring forlornly at his money card.

"Mine's next to my gun on the dresser," Faye mumbled. "Um…maybe like, three hundred left on there."

Spike nodded and pocketed her Glock and her money card. "You stay here with Ein. Ed and I'll find us something to eat and medicine for you. Don't open the door for anyone else while we're gone."

Faye shivered with fever as Spike left with Ed in tow. She figured that the injury was finally catching up to her, exacerbated by their zipcraft crash and camping adventure. The sunlight streaming through the window painted scarlet kaleidoscopes onto her closed eyelids.

***

"Remember, Ed, if anyone asks, Faye and I are your parents, and our names are Bruce and Wendy. You can be Sally for now. Got it?" Spike muttered as he walked down the hotel hallway with Ed skipping behind him. "Even if you jammed the signal on that tracking chip in my arm, there's still a good chance that we're being followed."

"Easy peasy," Ed sang. "Faye and Spike are Bruce and Wendy and Bruce and Wendy are Mom and Dad. Ed's gonna remember."

"That's the way," Spike replied as they walked into the lobby. The woman who checked them in last night sat behind the counter, engrossed in another magazine. Spike saw his Jericho poking out of her sweater pocket and fought back the urge to rip it away from her.

"Um, good morning," Spike said as the woman thumbed through the magazine. "My, uh, daughter and I are wondering if there's anywhere around here to get some food?"

The woman looked up and gave Ed and Spike a once-over, her close-set eyes darting between their faces. Spike gulped and ruffled Ed's hair in what he hoped was a paternal gesture, but Ed giggled and swatted his hand away.

"What are you doing, Spike-person?"

Spike clenched his teeth as the woman continued to stare. "Now, Sally, stop joking around in front of this nice lady."

The nice lady pulled a cloudy bottle out from under her desk and took a ten-second-long swig, belching as she finished. "Huh. There's a diner two blocks east of here. You can get some grub from there."

"Thanks very much," Spike told her, grabbing Ed's hand and pulling her along firmly as they opened the heavy front door and stepped into the street. The air had grown bitterly cold overnight, and the sky was a harsh slate gray.

"Ed, what did I just say?" Spike groaned once they were out of earshot. Ed shrugged, kicking a pebble down the cracked sidewalk as they began to walk.

"Ed forgot. Ed is too hungry."

Spike clenched his teeth. "Okay. Maybe just don't say anything the next time we meet someone." He noticed Ed's teeth chattering in the freezing air and softened. "Here, wear my coat," he said, handing his blazer to her. She wrapped it around herself like a cloak and made a delighted chirp.

They walked the two blocks swiftly, Spike pulling his shirt collar up against the damp wind. Almost every building they passed was boarded up, with threatening signs posted on the doors written in Russian and languages Spike didn't recognize. Some signs were emblazoned with an image of a skull and crossbones next to a smokestack, and Spike had no trouble deciphering those. The radiation from the uranium mines was dangerous, and living here for longer than a few months at a time was a death sentence.

Ed spotted the diner from a block away and sprinted towards it. The place was marked only with a blurry photograph of a plate of bacon and eggs taped to the window. Spike caught up to Ed and they walked inside the empty restaurant, immediately assaulted by the painfully delicious aroma of frying potatoes and bacon fat. They turned to one another and grinned as an ancient waitress shuffled towards them, an unlit cigarette dangling between her wrinkled lips. Spike gazed at it longingly.

"Just the two of ya?" she croaked, pulling two laminated menus out of her stained apron pocket and leading them towards a booth.

"That's right. Thanks," Spike answered, taking the menus from her and settling into the booth across from Ed as she bounced up and down on the vinyl seating. The place had clearly tried to go for a 1950's theme with their decor, but somewhere down the line something had gotten lost in translation. There were tattered posters of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis dotting the walls, the floor was checkered black and white tile, and a jukebox huddled in the corner, but several of the booths bore the unmistakable marks of freshly scrubbed bloodstains, and there seemed to be some kind of shrine to Vladimir Putin near the cash register, complete with candles and incense. Spike shook his head in bewilderment and glanced down at the menu while Ed vibrated with excitement across the table. The waitress hovered nearby, twisting her knotted hands together.

"I'll have the Mineshaft Special," Spike said, "and, uh, Sally, do you know what you want?"

Ed nodded gleefully. "Pancake supreme with extra whipped cream! Please, please, Papa!"

"Sure. Oh, and could we have a plate of pancakes to go, too? For, uh, Mom."

The waitress jotted down their order and shuffled away.

"Nice one, Sally. Keep that up and we'll be fine," Spike said encouragingly.

Ed nodded disinterestedly and shoved a few straws up her nose. Spike hurriedly calculated the total bill in his head, thankful that they had ended up in a town that apparently had made so little contact with the outside world that prices had stayed the same since the 2030s. The waitress returned with two mugs of coffee, and Spike drank his so quickly that he burned his tongue and throat, gagging slightly but too desperate to introduce caffeine into his bloodstream to care. Ed gave her coffee an experimental lick and pushed it away, frowning.

"You can get something else to drink if you want. And while we're waiting, can you tell me more about this tracker thing in my arm?"

Ed yanked the straws out of her nose and tapped her fingers on the table.

"Hmmm. Well, Ed was bored on Earth a few months ago and decided to run a scan for Spike-Person and Faye-Faye and Jet."

"Wendy and Bruce," Spike corrected her. "But go on."

"Tomato found a weird signal for, uhhh, Bruce, right away. The signal was a piece of cake to encrypt, and Ed placed her own tracker on you too. But Ed doesn't know who put the signal on you in the first place."

Spike took Ed's mug of coffee and sipped it more slowly this time, his burned tongue tingling. "So…the signal's not functioning anymore, right? Nobody's able to track it?"

"Nope! After Ed found your ship on Callisto, Ed jammed it so nobody else could find you. Ed thought maybe it was bad guys."

Spike raised his eyebrows. Ed could play dumb, but the kid was freakishly smart at the end of the day. There was a good chance that he and Faye wouldn't have survived this long if the tracking chip was still functional.

"Yeah, I think you might be onto something there, Sally. Thanks for doing that, by the way. I really owe you one."

"Ed will take pancakes!"

"Well, I'll have to think of something better than pancakes, eventually."

The waitress returned with their food, her wizened arms trembling as she placed the steaming plates on the table. Ed attacked the pancakes with her bare hands, stuffing huge chunks into her mouth and letting syrup drip down her wrists. The waitress blinked as she watched Ed eat, and turned to hand Spike his plate and a styrofoam container.

"Mineshaft Special and the pancakes to-go," she wheezed. "And here's the bill when you're ready." She dropped a crumpled receipt onto the table and trudged away.

Spike placed his money card onto the bill and grabbed his fork. He couldn't identify much of his food: a brownish heap of something that had perhaps once been a potato, a stack of soggy greens, and three greasy eggs with their yolks oozing over a chunk of grisly meat. Nonetheless, within five minutes he had cleaned his plate, and as he sat back in satisfaction he watched Ed rip open sugar packets and dump them into her mouth.

He wondered idly if he ought to stop her, but told himself that he wasn't her parent and it wasn't his place. But then, said a guilty voice in his head, whose job was it, exactly, to look after Ed and keep her from dying from a sugar overdose? Spike cleared his throat and pushed the container away from her as she reached for another packet.

"That's enough for now. You're gonna explode."

Ed glowered up at him, her lips coated with sugar crystals.

"Ed is still hungry!"

"If you're still hungry in an hour we'll come back. Give the sugar a rest. We need to get going and find some medicine before we bring this food back to, um, Wendy."

Ed sighed dramatically and slid out of the booth.

"Fine. But what about Ein? Ein needs breakfast, too."

Spike cursed under his breath. They only had three hundred and thirty Woolongs left to spend, but Ed was right. How had he ended up with all of this responsibility?

***

Faye felt her fever climbing higher as she lay in bed. One moment she felt ice-cold and wrapped the blankets around herself as tightly as possible, and the next moment she would become unbearably hot and rip the covers away. She limped into the bathroom and stuck her head under the faucet, drinking lukewarm water straight from the tap and letting it run across her face and hair. Ein whined nervously from the corner of the room. When she got back into bed, she watched little stars twinkle on the ceiling. Glowing balls of light ricocheted from wall to wall. She shivered and pulled the pillow back over her head, trying to block out the apparitions.

It seemed brutally unfair that right as Spike re-entered her life, Faye had to be sick and injured and looking like shit. She wanted to put on her sexiest dress and go to casinos and eat at fancy restaurants and flirt with him in elegant bars, places where she made heads turn. She wanted Spike to see her in her element, but instead she was forced to wear the same leggings for seven days and hadn't had access to her makeup or hairdryer in ages. Hopefully Jet hadn't given up on her completely and thrown away all of her possessions back on the Bebop.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faye spied a flash of golden hair. She closed her eyes tightly, and when she opened them again the flash of yellow was gone. Shivering, she began to roll over to her non-injured side to try to sleep, but just as she started adjusting the blankets the flash returned, drifting past her peripheral vision for just long enough to make her gasp. Heart pounding, Faye sat up and stared into every corner of the room, but again she saw nothing. Perturbed, she closed her eyes and attempted to sleep.

Faye felt someone's weight settle onto the bed, very close to her. Perfume wafted towards her, strangely familiar with its notes of orange and sandalwood; Faye tried to dig through her memories to figure out why she recognized it until she pictured a woman in a dark trench coat. She turned her head to see blonde hair fanned out across the pillow.

"Hello, Faye," Julia murmured. "I'm sorry you're not feeling well."

Faye wanted to scream, but she was too weak to move. Julia hummed low in her throat and rested a cool palm against Faye's burning cheek.

"You shouldn't - you're not supposed to be - " Faye began, her voice a strangled whisper, but Julia only made a shushing sound and ran her delicate fingers through Faye's damp hair.

"You're dead," Faye choked out, pushing Julia's hand away. "You died."

Julia gazed at her. Her crystalline eyes reflected the sunlight like two mirrored pools.

"You don't have to be rude. I'm just checking up on you."

Faye's breathing grew shallow.

"What are you doing here? Am I dying?"

Julia smiled sorrowfully and leaned close enough to Faye to whisper in her ear. The bitter citrus scent of her perfume filled Faye's nostrils, and she was powerless.

"Spike really loved me, you know," she whispered. "And I loved him. He lied to you."

Faye flinched. "I know that. I knew he was lying."

"But he loves you, too," Julia breathed into Faye's ear. "Don't break his heart."

Faye squeezed her eyes shut. Just before losing consciousness completely, she felt a gentle brush of lips against her cheek, so soft that it could have been a passing breeze.

***

Spike and Ed found a sort of all-purpose department store a few blocks north of their diner, and after a few moments of trying to keep Ed by his side in the store, Spike gave up and let her run free. She gamboled up and down the aisles of kitchen supplies and cosmetics and salvaged furniture and repurposed military uniforms. Spike poked around in the unorganized bins of junk, hoping to find dog food, medical supplies and aspirin for Faye, and possibly some warmer clothes for all three of them. There was no way he could possibly pay for more than one or two items, and when he found a package of dog food he slipped it under his shirt. He had spotted one bored-looking teenage cashier at the front register and no other employees, so he figured he could get away with shoplifting.

Ed raced around a corner wearing a heavy woolen admiral's coat, covered with medals and badges.

"Look! Ed is in the army!"

"Navy, more like it," Spike replied, searching for a matching sock to the thick knitted one he currently held in his hand. "Here, take this," he said, handing Ed two sweatsuits he had found that seemed roughly Ed and Faye-sized.

Ed disentangled herself from the coat and grabbed the clothes. She followed Spike as they walked into what appeared to be the medical section of the store. Rusty crutches were propped against the shelves, and the bins in this section overflowed with used ACE bandages, bottles of unmarked pills, and frightening-looking dental tools. Spike unscrewed a bottle and took a tentative bite out of one of the pills.

"Yup. Aspirin."

He pocketed a few of the pill bottles and a pile of bandages before grabbing Ed by the neck of her shirt and marching her towards the register. The gum-chewing teenage cashier raised her penciled eyebrows but said nothing as her gaze lingered on Spike's midsection, bulging with stolen goods. Spike placed the sweatsuits on the counter and crossed his fingers behind his back as she rang them up, Ed flipping through a gossip magazine and chortling.

"That'll be five hundred twenty-seven," the cashier droned, handing over the card reader. Spike tried to give her his most charming grin and leaned across the counter.

"Ah, I hate to be an inconvenience, but do you think there's any way you could maybe, um, ring up some coupons for us? My daughter and I are a little short on Woolongs at the moment, and it's so cold."

"Gee. Is that so. How much you got?"

Spike dropped his gentleman act and blew out his cheeks. "Three hundred thirty. And could you please, for the love of God, give me a few packs of smokes and a lighter?"

The cashier gave him a withering stare, but ran his card and wordlessly handed him three packages of cigarettes and a book of matches.

"Don't come back," she called, sticking a new piece of gum into her mouth. Spike waved and pulled Ed after him as they walked back into the frozen air. He pulled out a cigarette and jammed it into his mouth, his fingers quivering in anticipation as he struck a match, lifted the flame to the cigarette, and inhaled so deeply that he blacked out momentarily. Buzzing with sweet nicotine-induced pleasure, he waited as Ed dressed herself in the smaller sweatsuit, pulling the shirt and pants over her clothing. The sleeves extended past her feet and hands by a good six inches, but she rolled them up cheerfully. They walked the two blocks back to the hotel quickly, Spike chain-smoking and clutching his shirtfront full of dog food and medical supplies. It was almost worth it to quit smoking for a week just to enjoy that first orgasmic drag. He pictured Faye's excitement at the cigarettes and quickened his pace.

They reached the hotel room, and Spike unlocked the door as Ed chattered away behind him, telling a long-winded story about a friend from the Earth orphanage. Faye was still sleeping, and she didn't stir as they entered the room and deposited their haul. Spike opened a can of dog food for Ein and put it on the floor, and Ein wolfed down the food immediately as Ed sat on the floor and watched jealously.

Spike leaned over Faye and put a hand on her blazingly hot forehead. She didn't move at all as he touched her, and her breathing was uneven and raspy. He tried to shake her awake, and she only flopped limply to one side. His cheerful mood instantly dissolved.

"Ed," he called. "Go down to the lobby right now. Find the woman at the desk and tell her to get a doctor. Now."

Ed stood up and ran out of the room. Spike watched her go and checked Faye's pulse. It seemed abnormally slow, but that could have been because his own heart was beating so quickly.

This is your own damn fault, he told himself. All your fault. It's going to happen again, and it's all because of your own selfishness.

***

It was evening in Tharsis City. A tall man in a dark suit walked down an alleyway, closely followed by a bodyguard in mirrored sunglasses. The tall man spoke rapidly into an earpiece as they walked through the dusky twilight. The bodyguard drew to a halt in front of a wooden door and waited for the tall man.

"Is this the place? You're sure of it?"

The bodyguard nodded. "Yes, sir. We had him followed home after our meeting the other night."

"Very well. Shall we review the plan?"

The bodyguard snorted, and the tall man whirled around, glaring.

"Does something amuse you?" he hissed, fingering the hilt of his pistol.

The bodyguard cleared his throat significantly. "No, sir, nothing at all."

"We have no choice, you know," the tall man spat, suddenly irate. "If word gets out to the others that we've lost the signal on Spiegel we're as good as dead. All of the work we've done to reorganize will be in vain."

The tall man turned to knock on the door and the bodyguard rolled his eyes. Spike would have never insisted on this type of theatrical formality, he thought. Mao Yenrai had taught him better than that.

The two men waited in the humid darkness. Through the window, they saw Mateo's silhouette rise from a chair and come to answer the door. As the door swung open, the old doctor's eyes registered only a moment of shock before the tall man raised his pistol and shot him cleanly between the eyes.

Mateo fell to the ground, his mouth open in a small, surprised O. Blood trickled onto his wiry eyebrows and between his narrow eyes.

The bodyguard resisted the urge to knock his employer over the head. Shooting someone on a doorstep where any onlooker could see was madness. He bit his tongue and helped the tall man drag Mateo's body inside the apartment, where they left it propped against a hall table. The tall man panted with exertion, straightening up and wiping his hands against his dark suit jacket.

"There. That's taken care of. We will have to track Spiegel on our own. We cannot risk anyone else finding out that the signal has been lost."

The men exited the apartment, locking the door behind them and wiping the doorknob clean with a snow-white handkerchief.

***

Jet was used to people leaving, but that didn't make it any easier.

After his night at the casino, he staggered out of the Golden Woolong at dawn, a bit richer but horrifically hungover. The slots had been good to him tonight, but his nerves had demanded several dozen whiskeys over the course of the evening. He was admittedly a big guy, but there was only so much alcohol you could metabolize in one sitting. His head ached as though it had an iron vice clamped around it, a sour taste lingered on his fuzzy tongue, and his stomach threatened to eject its contents with every sluggish step he took into the parking garage. Now he understood why Faye was so grouchy every morning. He wouldn't wish this feeling on his worst enemy.

Jet hoisted himself back onto the Bebop and fired her up. Every maintenance light on the dashboard flashed in protest.

"We just gotta make it a few miles," he said, patting the dashboard and wiping the sweat from his haggard face. "Don't let me down now."

He reached the rundown gas station near the casino and fueled up the ship, hoping that the other repairs could wait until he could catch a bounty or two. With Ed, Spike, and now Faye gone, he didn't stand a ghost of a chance. Teamwork was essential when tracking down bounty heads.

Once the tank was full, Jet clambered back inside and prepared the ship for takeoff. Where he was headed, he didn't know. It was clear that Spike and Faye were nowhere to be found in the casino, and he had no way of reaching either of them. Unless they contacted him, he had nothing to go off of. Jet figured he would head to Ganymede and wait until something else came up. At least he had friends there who could help him search for his lost crew members.

The Bebop's engines growled into life and Jet released the main thrusters, powering the ship into the air. The casino shrank to a tiny dot in the wild Martian landscape, and once the Bebop cleared the smoggy layers of Mars's atmosphere, Jet activated the autopilot mode and set the ship on a unhurried course to Ganymede. Once this task was completed and the engines slowed to a gentle thrum, Jet paced the rooms slowly, trying to distract himself from the hangover as the ship's windows filled with glittering stars.

Jet passed Spike's bedroom and paused. He and Faye had made an unspoken pact in the first few days after Spike's disappearance to leave his room untouched. Some things were better left unsaid, but neither of them ever ventured through the doorway.

His curiosity getting the better of him at last, Jet pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air was stale, and Jet wrinkled his nose at the smell of a moldy towel on the floor heaped in a pile of 8-month-old dirty laundry. An empty carton of cigarettes lay on the bedside table: Spike's brand. A Bruce Lee book was dog-eared and torn on the floor under the cot, and Jet envisioned Spike haphazardly tossing it off the bed before falling asleep.

Jet left Spike's room and walked down the hall to Faye's room. He had been inside it many times, usually while helping her into bed in the middle of the night. There were so many nights when she got sloshed alone in the living room while he pruned his bonsai or played chess against the computer. Her makeup and lotions and perfumes were scattered across the dresser, and her clothes still hung in the closet. A small pile of photographs next to her hairdryer caught his eye, and he leaned forward curiously.

The first photo showed Spike, laughing and looking the youngest Jet had ever seen him. He was dressed in a leather jacket and holding a pool cue, and he held out a hand in the photograph, clearly trying to stop the photographer from taking the shot. Jet smiled and shuffled to the next photo. It was Vicious, looking no older than nineteen or twenty, standing with his arm around a breathtakingly beautiful blonde woman. Jet had never seen a photo of Julia before, but it could only be her. He shook his head, feeling a wave of empathy for Spike's obsession with the woman for all of those years. Julia's curly hair shimmered in the camera flash, and her aquamarine eyes were fixed on someone just out of the frame. Even Vicious looked different here. His face was open and relaxed behind his curtain of silver hair, lacking the terrible cruel sharpness he developed as an older man.

Jet pulled out the last photo in the pile. The other two photos were faded and yellowing at the edges, but this one was a crisp new print. Ed stuck out her tongue at the camera and clutched Faye's reluctant-looking face close to hers. Faye appeared to be in the middle of saying something just as Ed had snapped the picture. Ein's wagging tail was a blur in the corner, and Ed's thumb obscured the top right section of the photo like a glowing solar eclipse.

Jet closed his eyes and sank onto Faye's cot. The ship was so quiet now.

***

Spike hated hospitals. Hated, hated, hated them. He despised their smell, their dizzying fluorescent lighting, the unnatural hush, the depressing gift shops, the no-smoking policies. He made it a rule to avoid them whenever possible, and since the syndicate employed their own doctors, he had managed to stay away for most of his adult life.

And yet here he was, pacing the hallways of the only hospital on Europa, wearing a rut into the ugly tile floor and drinking lukewarm coffee from a vending machine and running his hands through his hair until it stuck out in every direction. A nurse had poked her head into the waiting room forty-five minutes ago and let him know that it would be about an hour before he could see Faye, and he had checked the cracked clock on the wall so frequently since then that his neck hurt from glancing upwards. He didn't want her to wake up in the hospital room alone.

After Ed had run downstairs to call for a doctor back at the hotel, Spike spent a tortured blur of a half-hour in the room with Faye, feeling her pulse every two minutes and berating himself. When the worryingly young-looking doctor arrived, he'd taken one look at Faye and insisted on driving them to the hospital himself. "You don't want to rely on the ambulances here," he'd told Spike as they lifted Faye into the backseat of his truck. "The radiation does things to people."

Spike and Ed had squished into the front seat with the doctor as they drove the fifteen minutes to the hospital on the outskirts of the dismal town. Even by Spike's low standards, this hospital seemed particularly bleak. A fine, misty rain had begun to fall, shrouding the cement building like a specter. When they arrived in the emergency room, Faye was lifted onto a stretcher by a group of harried nurses in pastel scrubs and wheeled away. The young doctor returned to Spike after a while and informed him that Faye would need surgery to remove infected bullet fragments in her hip, that she was in shock and that her organs were possibly failing, and would he please sign the consent forms? Blindly, Spike took the pen he was handed and scrawled his signature on the lines without reading the dense blocks of text.

Ed dozed in a wooden chair in the corner of the waiting room, curled up like an overlarge cat. Rain pattered on the roof and rolled down the windows. Spike finished the weak coffee and tossed the styrofoam cup into the trash. The breakfast he had eaten at the diner with Ed seemed an eternity ago, even though the clock only read ten past two in the afternoon. He shivered in the chilly hallway, wishing for something warmer than his thin cotton shirt. Winter was coming, he realized. The weather in Tharsis City was so mild that he'd forgotten about it, but it was early November and snow would be falling soon here on Europa.

It was strange, too, how quickly and profoundly the seasons in his own life could change. One day it was warm enough to wash the Swordfish on the deck of the Bebop in a t-shirt, and then somehow he was lying on the icy ground on Callisto, colder than he'd ever been in his life as he watched snowflakes drift down from the blackness. Spike had sworn to himself that he would never love anyone besides Julia as long as he lived, but all it took was for Faye to tuck her hair behind her ear in that certain way one afternoon and he was lost.

"Sir?"

Spike wheeled around. A gray-haired nurse beckoned for him to follow her down the hallway. He decided to leave Ed napping in the chair for the moment and walked jerkily after the nurse.

"She's out of surgery now. She's still resting, but you can go see her."

"Is she - I mean - did it go okay?" Spike asked hesitantly. The nurse nodded grimly.

"She's lucky you brought her in when you did. She's stable at the moment, but we'll have to watch her closely overnight."

They reached the end of the hallway. Through the closed door, Spike saw blinking lights and heard the whirr of machines. He swallowed, feeling the visceral memory of the breathing tube he'd torn out of his throat all of those months ago. The nurse opened the door and gestured for him to enter.

"Go ahead and visit if you'd like. We'll be back in shortly."

Spike braced himself and stepped inside. The smell of disinfectant hit him like a physical blow, instantly bringing him back to the moment he awoke in Mateo's apartment. The blinds were drawn and the room was darkened, and Faye lay in the metal bed, motionless and connected to a dozen different IVs and tubes and beeping sensors. An oxygen mask was strapped to her face, but Spike was relieved to see that she didn't have a tube down her throat. She was partially covered by a stiff cotton blanket, and although Spike wanted to adjust the covers where they had slipped off of her chest, he was afraid to touch her; he didn't want to do any more damage. He pulled a chair up to the bedside and hunched in it, leaning his bony elbows on his knees and fingering the carton of cigarettes in his pocket. Occasionally Faye's eyelids flickered, but Spike figured she was only dreaming.

A clock ticked on the wall. The rain turned to sleet outside. Delicate icy spiderwebs formed on the windowpane. Spike's breathing quickened and his shirt collar suddenly felt painfully tight and constricting. He tugged at it and tried to regulate his breathing, feeling as thought he couldn't draw a full breath into his lungs. Black spots flickered in his vision, and the room seemed to shrink around him. Sweat dripped down his ribcage and he reached out to steady himself, grasping the iron bedrail and lowering his head between his knees. All at once he was back on the table, unable to move as the forceps drew closer and closer to his eyes. Organs floated nearby in jars of green liquid, and then the pain came, so brilliant and nauseating even in memory that he cried out, clapping a hand to his mouth as he recalled the jolt of agony that radiated from his pelvis and traveled across every nerve ending from his scalp to his toes as the monstrous metal prongs plucked his eyeball out of his socket.

Spike leapt from the chair, gasping and shaking his head violently to clear it. This had happened to him plenty of times before, but never like this. Faye's outstretched hand twitched slightly on top of the blankets, and before he could stop it he was on the rooftop in the rain, smelling the copper of Julia's blood as it seeped from her back and dripped from her mouth, her still-warm lips slightly parted as she struggled to speak to him. The gray doves fluttered upwards, their wingbeats breaking the silence before he stared into the sky and howled. No. Not here - he couldn't think about that here - he staggered into the doorframe as he rushed out of the hospital room and bumped into a startled nurse on his way down the hallway.

"Excuse me - sir - are you all right?"

Spike ignored her and ran past Ed sleeping in the waiting room, past the hideous landscape paintings tacked to the walls, past the emergency room, not noticing the shocked stares of the doctors huddled around a water cooler. Elbowing the revolving door open, he burst out into the rainy parking lot, almost hyperventilating.

He was on the Bebop, listening to Charlie Parker and clinking the ice in a glass of whiskey while Jet laughed. Julia was smiling at something Vicious said in the bar, her freckled face glowing in the candlelight. He saw Faye, outstretched in her bikini on the Bebop's landing strip, her slender legs glistening with coconut oil. Vicious's face was contorted with rage above him as he fell backwards through the broken glass in the cathedral. He was pulling the trigger of his gun, firing a clip as Asimov danced around the tables. He sat at the bar in Chuck's cafe and tasted Faye's lips. He was flying the Swordfish through a flaming meteor shower, so fast that every muscle and bone in his body screamed in protest and his brain jangled against his skull.

A sob escaped his throat and he sank to his knees against the wet asphalt, burying his face in his hands. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the book of matches and a cigarette. He fumbled with the matches for a few seconds, striking one against the corrugated strip until it finally erupted into flame with its comforting smell. He lit the cigarette and inhaled, gazing out across the dark parking lot. Icy rain drizzled across the pavement. His cigarette illuminated the concrete wall he leaned against, and when he finished it he flicked it away, the still-glowing cherry of the tip skittering across the ground.

***

The electronic chatter of machines. The smell of burnt coffee. Pain radiating from her hip, dulled by a warm blanket of hazy painkiller bliss. Faye opened her eyes in confusion and pawed at the oxygen mask strapped to her face, rubbing her cheeks where the elastic bands had left itchy marks. She craned her neck and saw Ed lying fast asleep at the foot of her bed. Spike stood at the window, peeking through a crack in the blinds. Sheets of rain fell outside, tapping against the roof hypnotically.

"I need a cigarette," Faye slurred.

Spike jumped slightly and turned his head towards her. He walked swiftly to the bedside. Faye couldn't quite focus on his face as he leaned close to her.

"You're awake," he said softly, his amber eyes wide with surprise.

"I guess so," she replied. "I see that pack of smokes in your pocket. Please?"

"I don't think so. You're full of way better stuff anyways."

Faye sighed and scratched at the bandage covering her hip and lower torso. She wanted a drink, too.

"I hate hospitals."

Spike patted her hand and lowered himself into the chair next to the bed.

"Me too. Sorry. You were in bad shape."

Faye frowned. There was something that she needed to tell Spike, something important. Whatever these drugs were, they were making her very sleepy, but she needed to relay something to him before she drifted away. Spike fidgeted with a book of matches and watched the rain.

"Spike?" Faye asked, her tongue feeling thick and heavy.

"Hmm?"

"S'okay that you loved her. She…came and told me."

Spike was silent for a moment.

"Just try to rest for now, Faye," he said, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

Faye shook her head. "No. It's - it's okay. You don't have to pretend." She paused. "And...Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"You really need a shower. Jesus."

Spike hesitated for a moment.

"You're high as a kite, aren't you?"

Faye rolled her eyes. Spike leaned forward and kissed her forehead.


	13. I'll Be Seeing You

XIII. I'll Be Seeing You

What the hell was Spike Spiegel doing on Europa?

The tall man rolled this question around in his brain for days, unable to come to a satisfactory answer. Maybe killing Mateo was a mistake, he wondered uneasily. The doctor had seemed to know quite a lot about the world - but there was no room for regret, he told himself. In the syndicate, one had to make sacrifices to survive. After all, how else had he earned his current position? Years of groveling to his higher-ups. Countless hits carried out against traitors. Swift and ruthless violence. Yes, he reassured himself, murdering Mateo had been the only acceptable course of action.

When Spike first made his appearance in the Red Dragons all those years ago, the tall man was eaten up with jealousy. Mao Yenrai heaped praise upon the dark, wiry teenager. It seemed Spike could do no wrong, and before long he was Mao's right hand man for every meeting and mission. Behind closed doors, rumors swirled about the new kid: he came from a rich family who had bribed Mao, Mao was growing senile and confused Spike for his own son, Spike and Mao were secret lovers…the mutterings grew more and more absurd as the years passed. Even Vicious, Mao's golden boy, learned to share the spotlight with lanky, insolent Spiegel.

The tall man grew sick of it. All his life, he was ignored by those around him. He was the type of guy who walked in a room without anyone noticing. Except for his height, nothing about his appearance was remotely appealing or memorable. His face was sallow and waxy, with sunken, moss-colored eyes and protruding ears. He had never even kissed a woman. People did not enjoy being around him. As a kid, his parents treated him like an inconvenience, barely noticing him in the commotion of his six siblings. They lived in borderline poverty on the outskirts of several Martian towns, his father gambling away anything his mother earned as a waitress.

As soon as he turned sixteen, the tall man left home. He slept in alleyways, picked pockets, begged for scraps. It didn't take long for him to fall into all of the wrong crowds. Drunken syndicate men hanging out in bars paid him to make deliveries. The Red Dragons paid him the best rates, and thus his loyalties were forged. The tall man hoped that as the years went on he would gain access to the inner workings of the syndicate, but his chance never materialized. He was always shuffled to the outermost orbit of the group. Watching Spiegel fly effortlessly through the ranks intrigued him as much as it enraged him. What was the man's secret?

When Spiegel turned up grievously wounded after the showdown in Tharsis City, the tall man paid the old doctor Mateo a hefty fee - almost every Woolong in his account, in fact - to ensure that Spiegel would survive. The tall man promised the remaining Red Dragons that it was taken care of, that their new leader would survive and return in perfect health to restore the syndicate to greatness. Without Mao Yenrai's direction, the Dragons had fallen into disarray. Business transactions were disastrous. Members defected at every turn, and more than a few men ran straight to the ISSP and ratted out their former colleagues. But the tall man refused to see the group dissolve. If the Dragons were gone, he didn't have anywhere left to turn in the entire universe. And so it became his personal mission to revive Spiegel and pick his brain. He hated Spiegel, yes, and he was bitterly, intensely envious of the man's innate charisma and talent…but he admired him. God, he hated to admit to himself.

The tall man's patience was wearing thin. He allowed Spiegel a few months of solitude in Tharsis, tracking him from afar and planning what he would say to him when the time was right, but the syndicate couldn't survive much longer without a new leader. When the tracking signal in Spiegel's arm vanished without a trace, the tall man was furious. He didn't want to travel all the way to Europa, but if Spiegel had ended up on the far-flung moon, it was his only option.

***

Ein was bored. He had thoroughly sniffed every millimeter of the motel room, slurped up every molecule of kibble left out for him by Spike the day before, rolled around on the wet towels on the floor to cover himself with that delicious mildew stench, and yipped plaintively through the window at other passing dogs to alert them of his situation. His efforts were fruitless. He heaved a dejected sigh and turned his stocky body in several circles before settling down to sleep in the corner.

As he set his furry snout onto his paws to rest, he heard a sudden scuffling noise and raised voices from outside the door. His ears perked up and he growled quietly. They didn't smell like his humans.

"You sure this is the room?"

"That bitch downstairs recognized the picture. Said he was here with some woman and a weird kid."

Ein heard metal scraping against the door before the yelling started again. He raised his hackles.

"For Christ's sake - give me the key - how fucking stupid are you?"

The door flung open with a bang and two men burst into the dark room. Ein backed against the wall and barked furiously. Stay away, he told them. I'll bite!

"Shit, man, he's got a dog! You're not paying me enough for this!"

The tall man flipped on the light and stared around. The bodyguard behind him opened the doors to the bathroom and the closet, his gun drawn.

"Nobody here," the bodyguard reported, watching Ein nervously. The tall man gritted his teeth.

"Yeah. I can see that, you moron. Do something about the dog before it attacks us!"

The bodyguard took a step closer. Ein lunged at him, baring his sharp teeth. One more step and you're kibble, human! I'm warning you!

The bodyguard pulled out a smaller gun and filled it with some kind of liquid. He paused with his finger on the trigger and turned to the tall man, who had lit a cigarette and started to pace in nervous circles while he smoked.

"Hey, Boss, did anyone tell you that Spiegel kept a data dog? These things are worth some serious Woolong."

The tall man stopped mid-drag and coughed until his face turned red. Sensing his opening, Ein lunged forward and latched his teeth onto the man's bony shin. The man screamed and hopped around, but Ein kept his jaws clamped down hard.

"Don't just stand there! Do something," the tall man shrieked. The bodyguard jumped forward and pulled the trigger on the small gun. Ein felt a tiny pinprick in his left flank and felt the strength leave his body immediately. The tall man shook his leg and Ein flopped onto the ground.

***

By the third night of her hospital stay, Faye decided that she was recovered out of sheer spite. She didn't want to spend one more second of her life in a medical facility, and she was dying for nicotine. Morphine was great and all, but it just wasn't the same. Plus, it gave her strange dreams about lobsters crawling on the ceiling.

"Come on. Just one cigarette? They won't even know if I blow it out the window," she pleaded with Spike as he sat sprawled in the corner chair. Ed snored on the foot of the bed. Fluffy snowflakes accumulated on the windowsill, and the night sky was obscured by a thick layer of bruised-looking clouds. Even with the radiator on full blast, the room felt damp and chilly.

"Forget it. They'll let you out soon enough and then you can smoke until your lungs collapse," Spike muttered, mindlessly shuffling his decrepit deck of cards.

Faye scowled at him and picked at the bandage covering her hip. "You're comforting."

"You'll live," Spike replied. Faye opened her mouth to fire something back at him just as a gray-haired nurse entered the room.

"And how are we feeling tonight, dear?"

Faye scowled. "We are feeling like we're ready to get out of here, that's for sure."

The nurse smiled absentmindedly down at her and set about checking the bleeping machines and dripping IVs surrounding the bed; Ed awoke with a start and growled as she came closer. The nurse chuckled and patted Ed's arm.

"Well, hello to you too. I bet you're tired of sleeping on the end of this bed, aren't you?"

Ed squinted at the nurse and nodded cautiously.

"Would you like to come sleep in an empty room down the hall?"

Ed made a noise like a stalled garbage disposal. The nurse, completely unfazed, turned to Spike.

"Is that all right? Perhaps you and your wife can have a little peace and quiet for a while! It's very important for recovery."

Spike turned bright red and began to splutter.

"She's not - I mean - we're not…"

Faye glowered at him.

"Hey, Bruce, what's gotten into you?" She turned back to the nurse apologetically. "You'll have to excuse him. I think my husband must have choked on something. Ed - ahem - Sally would appreciate her own bed, I'm sure."

Spike coughed weakly and nodded. In the commotion of the past few days he had completely forgotten about their aliases. He kicked himself inwardly.

The nurse cleared her throat and ushered Ed out the door and down the hall. Spike blew out a sigh of relief, and Faye aimed a feeble kick at him as he walked back to her bedside.

"Honestly, Spike! Can't you at least try to stick to your own story?"

Spike groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "We gotta get out of here."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock!"

"Watch it."

The window was almost completely covered with snow. Only a sliver of blackness remained at the top of the glass. Spike exhaled a long breath and gazed around the depressing room. He spotted a cabinet in the corner that he hadn't noticed before.

"And who's Sherlock?" he asked, several beats too late. He crouched down and tugged at the cabinet drawer, frowning. The wood was swollen with humidity, and it took a few good yanks to wrench it open.

"Oh. Well, uh, I don't remember exactly, but he was some kind of old British detective, I think…" Faye replied, chewing a thumbnail as she searched her memory.

"Huh."

"Hey, what are you doing? Leave that alone," she continued, craning her neck to peer down at him. "Don't rip the room apart. I'm sure my bills are already piling up as it is."

Spike rummaged through the cabinet, pushing aside several moth-eaten blankets before pulling out an odd little metal box. It resembled some kind of primitive communicator, with several small dials and a rusted antennae. To his surprise, Faye's eyes brightened at once.

"A radio!"

Spike looked up at her as he fiddled with the dials. "Really? It's so clunky."

Faye nodded. "Definitely. Turn it on! I've heard that some guys out here on these moons still run radio stations. Maybe we can get some reception."

Spike tried several buttons and spun the dials wildly to no avail. "Damn thing's busted - "

"Give it to me," Faye demanded.

"I think it's just broken - "

"Give it," she hissed, leaning precariously out of bed and snatching it out of his hands. Spike sat back on his heels and watched her. To his great annoyance, she coaxed static out of it immediately, navigating the controls with her nimble fingers.

"There! Now we just need to find a station." She twisted the dial quickly, pausing anytime a snippet of recognizable speech or music drifted out of the chaos.

_Expect meteor showers beginning tonight around midnight - The Alba City Panthers have advanced to the semifinals - ISSP announces the renewal of their bounty guidelines - Next up, we'll hear an old chestnut from Earth -_

Faye paused and turned the knob a centimeter further. The channel grew clearer and the sound of strings and trumpets swelled out of the tinny speakers. A woman's voice began to sing, gritty and honey-sweet.

_I'll be seeing you_

_In all the old familiar places_

_That this heart of mine embraces_

_All day through…_

Spike glanced at Faye, who appeared transfixed.

"Um…do you know who this is?" he asked quietly.

"Geez! You don't know anything. This is Billie Holiday," she snapped, but her retort lacked the usual venom. She closed her eyes and hummed along for a moment. "I used to listen to her all the time…"

_In the old cafe_

_The little park across the way_

_The children's carousel_

_The chestnut tree, the wishing well…_

Spike stood up. He forced open the creaky window, brushing the snowflakes from the windowsill. The room filled instantly with the curious metallic scent of snow. Once he had done that, he turned off the lights. Faye opened her eyes, looking cross.

"What are you doing? It's freezing! And I can't see a thing - "

Spike walked over to her and held out his hands. "Stand up."

Faye gave him a bemused look, pushing a lock of hair behind her small ear. "What, are we breaking out of here?"

"No. Just stand up."

She rolled her eyes but allowed him to pull her into a standing position. He guided her over by the window and put his arms around her thin frame.

"Wow! I haven't seen snow like this since Callisto," she said in a hushed voice. "Spike, what are you doing? Why are the lights off? When can we - "

Spike pulled her closer. He swayed her gently from side to side.

"Faye. Shut up. I'm…trying to have a moment here."

She fell silent and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh. Are you trying to dance with me?" She snorted. "You're a regular Fred Astaire, aren't you?"

"Who?" he murmured into her ear. She shivered.

"Nobody."

It was amazing, really, Faye thought as she leaned into Spike's warm chest, that they could hear a voice from the past beamed into their ears by radio waves sent across the stars. A few aliens might even be listening somewhere light-years away, enjoying the dreamlike strains of Billie Holiday floating through time and space.

_I'll see you in the morning sun,_

_And when the night is through_

_I'll be looking at the moon,_

_But I'll be seeing you._

The snow fell softly. Jupiter's moons reappeared from behind the dense clouds, casting their pale lemony beams across the dark linoleum. They danced until the song ended and faded into static once more.

***

The next morning they awoke to a world blanketed in deep snow. Everything was still. The straggly trees were transformed into exquisite ice sculptures, their twigs sparkling with frost.

At some point during the night Spike must have fallen asleep in the uncomfortable chair, and he awoke with a painful knot in his back and drool on his collar. He sat up hurriedly and wiped away the drool with a newspaper lying on the bedside table.

"Wha's goin on?" Faye blurted out, bolting upright in bed and startling Spike. "I told you, I don't have the money…"

"Hey, lunatic. Go back to sleep."

Faye yawned and gazed around the room.

"Oh. It's you. Can we leave today?"

Spike opened the newspaper to the crossword and started doing it in his head.

"Could be tough with the snow."

After a few minutes he turned to Faye to see if she knew the answer to 27 down (famous Venusian racehorse, twelve letters), but she was snoring lightly. Smirking to himself, he stood up to stretch, cracking every joint in his long body. His clothing was ill-suited for the deep snow outside, but he needed to return to the hotel to feed Ein. Plus, a smoke break sounded nice, he thought, quietly crossing the tiled floor. He walked down the hall to Ed's room and peered inside.

Ed awoke at the sound of his footsteps and stared around uncomprehendingly.

"What are you doing, Spike-person?"

"Going out for a minute to feed Ein. You stay here with Faye."

Ed nodded sleepily and pulled a blanket over her head.

Spike walked stiffly through the hallways and out into the snowy parking lot. It was early, and the blindingly bright sunlight reflected off of the white landscape. He squinted against the glare as he lit his cigarette, his breath creating little clouds of humidity in the frozen air. When he stepped into the snow bank, he sank down into what was at least three feet of densely packed snow. He groaned. It was only about a mile back to the motel, but this would be torture.

Spike shoved his boots through the snow begrudgingly and began the walk. Maybe he would stop at the diner again on the way back. He pictured a plate of bacon and eggs and his stomach growled noisily. As he approached the town, he watched residents digging their cars and hovercrafts out of the snow. He finished his cigarette and lit another one, shoving it between his chattering teeth. Snow accumulated on his pant legs in sodden clumps, weighing him down as he walked. His face felt raw and chapped against the bitter wind.

Was he really doing all of this for a damn dog? Was he about to freeze to death trying to feed a fat corgi who probably needed to be on a diet anyways? Oh well, he thought as he crunched through the snow. Whatever happens, happens.

***

The bodyguard didn't know how much more of this he could take. He had watched other employers lose their marbles before, and it seemed that the tall man was only a few failures away from a total meltdown. The tall man paid him well, and for the most part his assignments were easy and painless. But something about this Spiegel guy clearly drove him insane.

The two men were stationed in their zipcraft near the motel, ten hours into their stakeout. The stolen data dog snored blissfully in the backseat, and the tall man had spent the past two hours systematically chewing every pen in the vicinity into mangled pieces of garbage. His hands and mouth were stained with blue ink. He looked deranged, and the bodyguard would laugh if he didn't know about the numerous automatic weapons stashed about the tall man's person.

"Hold on - someone's coming…"

The tall man lurched forward and fumbled for the binoculars around his neck. The bodyguard waited unhappily. The dark-haired figure plodding through the slush did look like their target, but they had already gone through several false alarms.

"I think…yeah. Shit. That's Spiegel. Okay. Exit the vehicle! Assume the position! Now!"

The bodyguard had never wanted to roll his eyes harder. Somehow, he kept a straight face and stepped into the icy air. He stumbled through the snow and struck a casual pose on the street corner, keeping one eye trained on Spiegel's lanky figure as he approached.

When Spiegel was about ten feet away, the bodyguard waved him down. Spiegel gave him a wary look. His eyes were mismatched and piercing, and the bodyguard shuddered slightly.

"Hey, man, can I bum a cigarette? Fuckin' freezing out here."

Spiegel looked him up and down. The bodyguard waited, trying to keep his face guiltless.

"Yeah. One sec," Spiegel replied, reaching a hand into his pants pocket. In a flash, the bodyguard leapt forward and wrapped Spiegel's neck in a chokehold. They tumbled into the snow, and before he knew what had happened Spiegel had wrenched himself free and leapt to his feet. The bodyguard struggled to regain his footing, and as he pulled himself upright Spiegel aimed a walloping kick to his temple. The pain was nauseating, and he collapsed instantly. Spiegel pinned him to the ground with one heavy boot and kicked him in the mouth with the other foot. The bodyguard spat a bloody tooth into the snow and moaned.

"Who are you working for?" Spiegel panted. "The Dragons? The Tigers? How did you find me?"

Behind them, the tall man jumped out of the zipcraft and lurched toward them, drawing his gun. The dark ink stains around his mouth made him look demonic, his muddy eyes wide with fury.

Spiegel released the bodyguard and backed away, raising his fists.

"Who the hell are you?"

The tall man lifted his gun and trained it at Spiegel's torso.

"You don't recognize me, Spiegel?"

"Can't say I do," Spiegel replied smoothly. "Man, with an ugly mug like that, how could I forget?"

This enraged the tall man. He fired his gun and missed spectacularly, the bullet ricocheting off of the iron fence behind Spiegel, who barely moved.

"Hey, Boss, don't shoot him, remember? We want him alive, right? Take it easy, Boss," wheezed the bodyguard as he dragged himself off of the ground.

The tall man made a wordless sound of disgust and shot the gun again, striking Spiegel in the lower abdomen. Spiegel flew backwards and hit his head against the iron fence. He slid to the ground, unconscious.

"Put him in the zipcraft and keep him alive," the tall man yelled. The bodyguard stood up and felt the blood rush to his head. He swayed with dizziness and guessed that he had a concussion.

The bodyguard dragged Spiegel into the back of the zipcraft as the tall man prepared for takeoff. Luckily for Spiegel, the bullet had exited through his back, and the bodyguard only had to clean the wound, bandage his midsection, and hook him up to an IV. The guy would be fine once he woke up, all things considered, but he would be sore, and pissed. It was a good thing the tall man was such a bad shot.

Once Spiegel was stable and strapped into the backseat next to the snoring data dog, the bodyguard fastened his own seatbelt and rubbed his aching temple. The snow was slippery, and the wheels squealed as they took flight. The tall man muttered to himself as they flew.

"Insolent son of a bitch - who does he think he is - worked with me for five years - don't know what the hell Mao saw in him…"

The bodyguard stared balefully out the windshield. After working his tongue around his battered mouth for a moment, he spat another tooth into his palm. The tall man glanced over, revolted, and the bodyguard shrugged apologetically, stashing the bloody tooth in his pocket.

***

Faye awoke from her nap in the early afternoon. The blankets were too warm, and she felt sweaty and cranky and thirsty. Throwing back the covers, she took a few unsteady steps out of bed and gulped the contents of a half-drunk water bottle on the nightstand. To her relief, the pain in her hip had receded to an occasional twinge, and walking felt manageable. She pulled off the hospital gown and dressed herself in the sweatshirt and jeans that Spike had stolen for her. The fabric felt itchy and strange, but it would keep her warm.

She walked down the hallway to Ed's makeshift room and opened the door. Ed sat perched on the windowsill, bundled in her overlarge sweatsuit. She was grabbing handfuls of snow from the bushes outside and eating it out of her palms. Faye grimaced.

"Ed, that snow might be radioactive, you know," Faye told her. Ed beamed and popped a hunk of dirty ice into her mouth.

"Well, never mind, then. Where's Spike?"

Ed licked the last snowflake from her palm and hopped down from her perch.

"Spike-person left," she said cheerfully. Faye frowned.

"What do you mean, he left?"

Ed danced in circles around the room.

"Hmm….Spike-person woke up Ed and said Ed should stay here with Faye-Faye."

"Oh, he did, huh?"

Faye narrowed her eyes. A curious sensation was building up inside of her. Was it anger? Not quite. She felt like her chest was filled with agitated bees, buzzing noisily and blocking out all other thoughts.

So Spike decided he'd had enough and took off, leaving her with the kid? Was that what last night was about? His pathetic way of saying goodbye? God, what an idiot she was. Why had she imagined for a moment that Spike would stick around? Why had she let herself believe him? Didn't she know better than to trust a man?

Tears prickled her eyes and she took a deep, steadying breath. Don't cry another tear over him, she told herself fiercely. She strode forward briskly and caught Ed mid-spin by the collar.

"All right. We're leaving," she said. She released Ed and dragged a chair underneath the open window.

"You first," she instructed. Ed scampered happily onto the chair and out the window, landing with a soft thump onto the heavy snow. Faye clambered onto the chair and grasped the windowsill. She pulled with all of her might, but to her dismay it was harder than she had expected and her arms shook with exertion.

"Okay, Ed, I might need your help," Faye gasped, her grip slipping on the windowsill. Ed was already making a snowman in the muddy slush below. "ED! Pay attention!"

Ed jumped and padded back over. She took hold of Faye's wrists and yanked with surprising strength. All at once, Faye was outside, and she landed in a pile on top of Ed. She rolled off of her and caught her breath for a moment. The snow was deeper than she had expected, too. Shit.

"Where are we going, Faye-Faye?"

Faye got to her feet and brushed the snow off of herself.

"We'll go back to the hotel and get Ein, first, and then…" she trailed off. What the hell were they supposed to do? "We'll try to find Jet, I guess," she finished. Ed grinned widely and threw a pile of snow into the air.

"Jet-person! Yay! Bebop-Bebop party!"

They walked through the snow back to the motel, following a trail that someone had already dug out. Ed, ever energetic, frolicked ahead of Faye.

Don't think about him. Don't think about how it felt to kiss him. Don't think about how it felt to lay in his arms. She should have known better. He had already abandoned her once, after all…it must have all been some kind of game to him.

Poor Julia must have known how this felt. Stupid cowboy. Riding off alone into the sunset, thinking he doesn't need anyone. Well, she had survived losing him once before, she thought bitterly, and she could do it again.

They reached the motel and plodded up the wooden stairs. Faye pulled the room key out of her pocket and paused, trying not get her hopes up that Spike would be waiting on the other side of the door, perhaps lounging on the bed with a cigarette between his long fingers…

She took a deep breath and unlocked the door. Before she even stepped into the room, she knew that it was empty. It had the musty, closed-in smell of a place that had been uninhabited for days.

"Ein?" Ed called nervously into the darkened room. Faye saw her Glock lying on the bedspread and pocketed it, checking under the bed and in the closets for the corgi.

"I don't think he's here. Spike must have taken him with him."

Faye locked the door and turned on the lights. Ed sat on the edge of the bed, uncharacteristically still.

"Can we call Jet now?" she asked in a small voice.

Faye sank down next to her and kicked off her snow-covered shoes.

"Well…I'm sorry, Ed, but I don't know how to reach him right now." She paused. "It might just be you and me for a while, kid."

Ed nodded forlornly. Faye grabbed the remote and turned on the television to fill up the oppressive silence. She flipped through the channels morosely, hardly noticing what she was seeing as she stared at the screen. Ed pulled a blanket over her head and curled up. They sat without speaking for the good part of an hour, barely moving. The afternoon grew cloudy and gray outside. A dove sang somewhere, sad and distant.

Faye remembered how she used to feel on Sunday nights as a kid. After the fun of the weekend was over, with nothing to look forward to except the endless monotony of school and chores and tired mornings waiting for the bus. Like all of the color had been sucked out of the world.

A familiar voice caught her ear. She paused her channel surfing and returned to a news station she'd already cycled through. It was a news channel from Ganymede that Jet used to watch on the Bebop, and Faye recognized the pretty blonde newscaster. She looked a bit like Julia, come to think of it. Spike probably thought so too, might have had a thing for her, might have been why this channel was always on…no, don't think about that, she told herself. She turned up the volume to drown out her thoughts.

"And now we have a special announcement from the ISSP, who have released information on a new bounty for the return of a very special canine! A missing data dog has been spotted on Venus this afternoon, and the authorities are offering a 14 million Woolong reward for the safe return of the dog or the capture of its kidnappers."

The newscaster pointed to a screen behind her desk to show blurry security footage of two men standing at a gas station. The taller man held a fat Corgi around its middle. Ed poked her head out from under the blankets and yelped.

"Faye-Faye! It's Ein!"

Faye's heart sank. The dog did look a lot like Ein, but how could that be possible?

"Faye-Faye! We have to go to Venus! We have to rescue Ein!" Ed shrieked, jumping out of bed and shoving her feet back into her snow-covered shoes. Faye hesitated.

"Ed, we don't even know if that's really…" she began. Ed watched her anxiously, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. After a moment of consideration, she changed her mind. Screw it. What else did she have to lose, anyways?

"Ah, why the hell not. All right. We'll go to Venus."

***

Jet liked to keep the television on when he was alone on the Bebop. It felt better that way, somehow. Kept him from reaching for the whiskey too early in the day. The long afternoons were the hardest, with the weak November sunlight casting its mournful golden haze over the entire ship. The ocean lapped at the hull, filling his nose with the smells of saltwater and seaweed as he puttered around the empty rooms, trying to occupy himself with menial tasks.

Jet tuned into his favorite news station and let the voices wash over him as he hung out the laundry to dry. Halfway through the headlines, he heard something that made his stomach lurch.

"…from the ISSP, who have released information on a new bounty for the return of a very special canine! A missing data dog has been spotted on Venus this afternoon, and the authorities are offering a 14 million Woolong reward for the safe return of the dog…"

Jet dropped the wet pillowcase he was holding and ran over to the screen. He stared at the fuzzy image of the fat corgi. He would recognize that dog anywhere.

***

Faye kept a lookout as Ed hacked into the old computer in the motel lobby. The receptionist was nowhere to be found, but Faye kept her hand on her Glock inside her sweatshirt just in case. After Faye easily picked the desk's padlock and discovered the receptionist's money card, Ed typed frantically, quickly accessing a travel agency's website and purchasing two express tickets to Venus. The flight left at 8 pm that night from an airport about twenty miles away. They would make it if they hustled. Once Ed downloaded the tickets and Faye pocketed the stolen money card, they bolted outside and ran down the icy street to hail a taxi.

The cab driver gave them an odd look as they hurtled into the backseat of the cab, eyeing their bedraggled sweatshirts and snow-covered shoes, but he said nothing as they drove through the snowy landscape to the airport.

Faye leaned her head against the window as they drove. Her chest grew tight and a few tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. This was it, then. Spike wouldn't be able to find them after this. Good riddance, she told herself. If he's the kind of guy who would walk out on someone like that, who needs him? She tried to hide her face, but Ed turned towards her curiously.

"Why are you crying, Faye-Faye?" Ed asked loudly. The cab driver glanced back at them and Faye cleared her throat, embarrassed.

"It's nothing. I'm just…mad at Spike," she said curtly. "Forget about it."

Ed gave her a curious look and didn't speak for the rest of the ride.

They reached the tiny airport, paid the driver, and headed inside. Faye barely registered any of it, feeling dazed and empty. She wondered vaguely if she needed to do something about her gun, but luckily for her Europa hadn't seemed to have gotten the memo about what the proper security measures were for air travel. A few bored-looking employees in secondhand uniforms merely looked them up and down before waving them into the dingy waiting area.

They boarded the plane and settled into their seats just as the sun was setting, painting the snow-covered tarmac an iridescent navy blue. As the stewardesses began their safety presentation, Ed turned to Faye once more.

"Why is Faye-Faye mad at Spike for leaving to feed Ein?"

Faye exhaled irritably.

"Because he got us all into this mess in the first place, and took off without…wait, what did you just say?"

"Spike-person went to go feed Ein, that's what he told Ed!"

Faye froze in the middle of fastening her seatbelt.

"Ed. You're telling me. That Spike just went…to go feed the dog?"

Faye took several long breaths through her nose. She reminded herself that murder was illegal on every planet.

"You're just telling me this NOW? Are you out of your MIND? What the HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"Hey, lady, keep it down," growled someone behind her.

"Mind your own business," Faye snarled. "Ed. For crying out loud. Something must have happened to him!" She stood up abruptly. "Come on! We need to go back and look for him!" She grabbed Ed's arm and dragged her into the aisle. As she started towards the exit, a stewardess rushed over to her.

"Excuse me, Miss, you have to take your seat! We're about to take off!"

Faye glared at her. "I need to get off this plane right this instant!"

The stewardess placed a hand on her shoulder. "Miss, if you don't take your seat immediately, I will have to call the authorities."

The plane's engine began to thrum, and Faye realized that it was pointless. Besides, she didn't need to get tangled up with the police at the moment. She had a gun, a stolen credit card, mountains of debt from the hospital, and an unrelated child with her. She sat down, defeated. The stewardess gave her a final stern glance and returned to the cockpit.

Ed watched in delight as they lifted off the runway, but Faye screwed up her eyes and tried not to panic.

She couldn't lose Spike again.


	14. On The Trail

XIV: On The Trail

Spike awoke to hot dog breath in his face. _Damn, Faye_ , he thought as he swam out of a hazy dream, _that's disgusting_. He raised a stiff arm to rub his eyes, and a sharp stabbing pain in his stomach made him gasp. The hazy recollection of the tall man and the bodyguard and the gunshots returned, and he groaned. _I was just healed up from the last time, too. Fucking assholes._ The dog breath drew even nearer to his face, and he opened his eyes, almost gagging from the smell.

Ein's chestnut eyes peered down at him, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth and dripping slimy drool.

"Oh, it's you," Spike wheezed. "Wait a minute..."

Spike was really getting tired of waking up full of bullets in unfamiliar places. He strained to prop himself up on his elbows to look around the darkened room, and he noticed that his legs were tied to the bed with lengths of rough rope. The knots looked familiar. He had learned them himself from the Dragons all of those years ago, crouching terrified in the back of a bar after a gunfight as he watched the older guys truss up the waiters like Ganymede lobsters in a restaurant tank.

His heart raced, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. The room was humid and hot, and something in the air reminded him of a jungle; rich fertile soil and thick underbrush. Where had they taken him? Ein panted anxiously next to him, padding clumsily over the lumpy mattress with his furry paws. Like Spike, he was also tied to the metal bed frame.

So it had finally happened. The syndicate had caught up with him at last. What a fool he had been to allow himself to think that he had outrun them. With a rush of fear, he prayed that Faye wouldn't try to rescue him, and that she and Ed were unaware and far away from wherever the men had taken him.

Gritting his teeth, Spike sat upright, ignoring the agony in his midsection. He began to tug at the knots in the ropes. As the fibers began to loosen, the door flung open. He froze and steeled himself.

The tall man and the bodyguard sidled inside, quickly locking the door again behind them. Spike spotted their pistols and gulped. The thuggish bodyguard skulked in the corner, one hand loosely wrapped around the trigger of the gun.

The tall man approached him, his face inscrutable in the shadows.

"Spike Spiegel. I've waited a long time to talk to you, you know," he said quietly. Spike said nothing. A car whizzed by outside, and the man's close-set eyes glinted in the fractured beams of the headlights for a moment.

"So many things I need to ask you. I'm sorry I had to shoot you, but you weren't behaving nicely, you know," he sighed. "I do hope you'll cooperate from now on. It's going to be a lot easier if you do."

"If you think I'm going to help you, you're full of shit. Spare me the theatrics and just kill me if that's what you're going to do," Spike muttered. His heart pounded in his throat, but the longer he could keep his cool, the longer he had to figure out a plan.

The tall man balled up his fists, trembling slightly. "Always so blasé, weren't you, Spiegel? I don't know how the Van put up with you for so long."

Spike's pulse quickened at the mention of the Van. His skin prickled as he broke in to a sweat. Through the walls, he heard the bustle of a city: distant sirens, car horns, trains rumbling, the chatter of a busy street. Night birds called through the darkness, their liquid songs exotic and unfamiliar.

"Oh, just get this over with already. What do you want from me, you little twat?" Spike yawned, feigning boredom.

Never show fear: that was the first rule. It worked with aggressive dogs and aggressive men alike. The tall man snarled wordlessly and smacked him across the face. Ein barked furiously and lunged at the tall man, only to fall back, cowering, as his leash pulled taut and choked him. Spike spat out a mouthful of blood and laughed. _Good_ , he thought with grim satisfaction. _Let_ _the_ _son_ of a _bitch get riled up and lose his train of thought._ In the corner, the bodyguard fiddled with the hem of his jacket.

"You bastard! Don't you get it, Spiegel?" the tall man shrieked. "I'm the one in charge here. Me! Now talk! How did you do what you did? Why did Mao favor you for so long?" He leapt from the chair and began to pace frantically around Spike's bed. "You should be grateful to me! I'm the one who saved you back in Tharsis City! ME! Now explain everything! Do it now," he finished, his voice rising to a panicked whine.

Spike grimaced. "All right." He paused, pressing his hand to his wounded stomach and suppressing a wave of nausea. "I'll talk."

***

It had been a few months since Jet had tracked down a bounty, and he felt rusty. Still, he had always liked Venus. He meandered through the marketplace, letting the intense sunshine seep into his tired muscles. Rows of shabby tents lined the streets, their vendors hawking perfectly formed piles of brilliantly colored spices, intricately patterned pottery and tiles, mysterious bottles of tinctures and potions, and aromatic hunks of spicy grilled meat on skewers. Jet's stomach rumbled as he passed the food, but he wanted to get at least a few leads on Ein's whereabouts before calling it a day and returning to the Bebop. So far, nobody had heard anything about the corgi, but everyone was polite and friendly to him. People kept offering him samples: little bits of of grape leaves and hummus to eat, perfumed oil to rub on his mechanical arm. Jet ducked under the flaps of a crowded tent on the street corner and wondered idly if warm climates created warmer people.

An interested throng of people in long robes clustered around a counter, and Jet peered curiously over their turbaned heads. Three old men stood behind the counter, chopping up hunks of strange-colored meat and throwing it into a steaming wok. Cigarette smoke mixed with the odors of sautéed garlic and strong, musky cologne.

"Come right up, son, we have the best deals on Venus," croaked one of the old men. "You haven't seen prices like this since the Gate accident!"

Jet chuckled to himself as the customers began to haggle. He knew he had seen these guys somewhere. The smallest of the trio crowed with laughter and slapped the other two men on their frail arms.

"Ha! You don't remember a thing about the Gate. We were too busy digging it out, remember? You got hit in the head by our shovels too many times."

The old man chopping the meat paused and took a swig from a bottle of beer.

"Oh, you always give me such a hard time," he griped, wiping his mustache with his meat-covered hand. Jet pushed through the crowd and sidled up to the counter. He still needed to keep searching, but he was getting too hungry to concentrate on anything. The smell of the frying meat made his mouth water.

"Hey there, fellas. What do you have there? I'll take a pound," he called over the commotion. The old men beamed through the smoke.

"This here is a real discount! Venusian specialty."

Jet nodded and handed over a wadded-up pile of bills. The smallest old man handed him a skewer of meat, dripping with grease.

"Thanks, old-timer," Jet said. He blew on the food to cool it down and took his first bite. "Hey, that's not bad! Wha' is it? Beef? Sea rat?" he asked through an enormous mouthful. The flavor was nicely spiced, he thought, but it was a little tough and sinewy.

The men shared a glance and began to cackle. "At these prices? Not in this universe, sonny! This is premium Venusian dog meat!"

Jet dropped the skewer with a splatter and clapped a hand to his mouth, retching.

***

Faye dragged an exhausted Ed through the marketplace, both of them sweating through their heavy wool sweatsuits under the blinding Venusian sun. They were reaching near-insanity levels of sleep deprivation, and Faye felt utterly lost. Spike was clearly in danger back on Europa, she still couldn't reach Jet, and now they had to rescue Ein, too. An undercurrent of barely suppressed terror rippled through Faye's every thought as she tried not to imagine what sort of terrible things had befallen Spike. Was he hurt? Was he dead? Had the Dragons caught up with him at last?

Faye's mind whirled as they trudged across the sun-baked cobblestones. They needed to get back to Europa as quickly as possible, but they were out of cash again. Besides, Faye knew that Ed would refuse to leave Venus until Ein was safely rescued. In the past, Faye would have happily left the kid on her own, but now her stomach twisted guiltily at the thought of it.

When the hell had she developed a conscience? She sighed in glum resignation as they turned down another street. The only thing left to do was to make a quick buck the only way she knew how.

"Come on, Ed, let's try this place," Faye urged, tugging at Ed's sweaty hand and pulling her into a darkened bar. Bearded men in linen robes sat clustered at tables, taking long drags on hookahs and blowing smoke rings up to the high ceiling. The bar was filled with wilted palm trees and the walls were decorated with colorful mosaics. A fountain burbled somewhere, the splashing of the water barely audible over the chatter. Scanning the room, Faye spotted a table of men playing blackjack and cheered inwardly. She gave herself a little slap on her cheeks to wake up, pulled off her heavy sweatshirt to reveal her stained tank top underneath, and marched over to the group of card players. Ed traipsed behind her, coughing as they walked through the clouds of fruity hookah smoke. Heads swiveled to stare at her as she wove between the tightly packed tables.

"Hello, gentlemen," Faye purred, lowering her eyelids and sticking out her chest. "Mind if I join you?"

The men paused the game and stared at her for a moment. Holding their cards, they huddled together to discuss something in a guttural language. Faye waited patiently, tugging her shirt down to reveal a little more skin and keeping a seductive smile pasted gamely on her face. She patted her back pockets surreptitiously to double-check for the Glock stuck in the waistband of her jeans. Even in this intense heat, the gun's metal was cold against the damp skin of her lower back.

"Very well. Please for yourself to join us," one of the men said, drawing out a chair and offering it to her. "You know of the rules of the blackjack, madam?"

"Oh, I know of the rules of the blackjack, all right," Faye replied. "Ed, go scope out the cash registers," she hissed out of the corner of her mouth. Ed saluted and scampered away through the crowd.

They began to play, every man at the table watching her intently. Faye was careful not to win too much too fast. She wanted to get some information out of the locals before relieving them of every Woolong in their pockets.

"So, my friends, have you seen anything strange around here recently? Any animals?"

The man to her left looked at her curiously, stroking his curly beard. "Animals?"

Faye played her hand and leaned closer to him. "Any unusual dogs, for instance? I'm looking for a corgi."

The man nodded slowly, fiddling with his cards. "Dog? Hmm. Yes. Hotel Ishtar? By riverside? You know of?"

"Uh, of course," Faye lied. "What about it?"

"Friend is manager. Bad men came in yesterday, brought dog. Very odd dog, he tell me. Like large sausage," the man murmured thoughtfully, his eyes wandering down to her chest. "Why do you ask this question?" He took a long pull off of the hookah and offered it to her. Faye took it from him and drew the sweet smoke deep into her tired lungs, relishing the buzz.

"Um...a friend of mine is missing a pet. Thanks," she told him. "Oops! Looks like that hand goes to me!"

The heat and the smoke and the mingled languages made Faye feel like she was dreaming with her eyes open. Pretending to stretch, she quickly glanced around the room and spotted Ed sneaking behind the bar, clutching an open jar of maraschino cherries and popping them into her mouth by the handful, red syrup dripping ghoulishly down her face. Oh well. She was winning by a huge margin at this point; might as well let the kid binge on chemical cherry juice.

As they played, the memories of another blackjack game filled her mind.

She remembered the way Spike looked at her when they met. His sly smile across the table in that casino so long ago. The way her breath caught in her throat when she looked up and saw her target for the night. It was supposed to have been a simple job, and to Poker Alice, it would have been: get in, get out, make money, shoot the place up, consider it done and dusted. No hard feelings and no regrets.

But that was the night that Faye remembered how to be human. How it felt to look into those mismatched eyes and feel a frozen part of her heart begin to melt. The rush of heat that had filled her when she had imagined, wildly and unbidden, how it would feel to slide underneath that lanky cowboy's warm body, to pull him against her in the dark and lose herself.

She wanted that again. More than anything.

One of the card players sneezed loudly, startling Faye and bringing her back to reality. They finished the game, and she gleefully stuffed her winnings into her pockets. She hadn't even cheated...much. Not as much as she usually did, anyways. The men watched her with bemused respect as she scooped up the last Woolong and stood up from the table.

"Well, thanks guys!" she called behind her. She felt delirious with exhaustion, and the hookah made her surroundings seem distant and blurred. Ed sidled up to her, her mouth stained pink with cherry juice, and Faye took her firmly by the wrist and steered her outside. She squinted into the ferocious afternoon sunlight, her eyes taking a while to adjust after the dimly lit bar. Here and there, fluffy seed pods drifted through the air like weightless snow.

"What are we doing, Faye-Faye? Can we take a nap?" Ed asked feebly.

"In a minute, Ed. But first, we're going shopping. I can't wear these clothes for one more second."

"Faaaaaaye-Faaaaaaye..." Ed moaned. "I don't want to shop. I want to sleep!"

"Tough it out, Ed. Us girls have to look our best, you know," Faye replied distractedly, trying to block out panicked visions of Spike bleeding in the snow. "We're going to get some better clothes and go to this Hotel Ishtar. That's where that guy said they saw a dog like Ein. Okay?"

Ed nodded miserably, her red hair flopping against her ears. Faye shaded her eyes against the sun with her forearm and gazed around the busy marketplace. She spotted a mannequin draped with colorful scarves outside of a small tent a few blocks away. Encouraged, she strode purposefully towards it, Ed shuffling behind her. As they walked, vendors cried out left and right, plying them both with samples and treats. They both accepted them greedily, shoving pieces of pita bread and spoonfuls of unidentifiable sauces and deliciously sour berries into their hungry mouths.

They reached the tent with the mannequins, wiping their garlicky fingers on their sweatshirts. Faye made Ed wait outside while she bought them both floaty sand-colored dresses and gauzy scarves that would serve both as disguises and sun protection.

"Mind if we change in the back? And could you point me towards the Hotel Ishtar?" Faye asked the saleswoman as she handed over a wad of Woolongs. The woman glanced up at her through the slit in her dark veil as she counted the crumpled bills.

"Hotel Ishtar? You are the second foreigner today wanting directions to that place."

"Is that so," Faye said, poking her head out of the tent to usher Ed back inside. "Whereabouts is it?"

Faye and Ed ripped off their dirty sweatsuits, threw them into a nearby trashcan, and pulled the dresses over their heads. The fabric felt gloriously cool and breezy. The saleswoman blushed behind her veil and gazed pointedly at the ceiling.

"Why, Ed, you look downright female in that," Faye remarked. "You oughta try it more often."

Ed scowled and stuck out her tongue. The saleswoman rummaged through a basket and pulled out a battered map, tracing a route with one long purple-painted fingernail.

"See here. Hotel Ishtar. Follow river past market, three blocks west, look for fountain."

Faye thanked the woman and grabbed Ed by the collar. Ed, practically asleep, tripped over her own feet and mumbled nonsense as Faye pulled her back onto the dusty street.

***

It was late in the afternoon. The tall man lit a cigarette and strode back and forth, his boots creaking against the tiled floor.

"I just don't understand what it is that you want to know," Spike said hoarsely. "And why did you bring my dog?"

He could hear a fountain burbling somewhere outside. He was desperately thirsty, but he would die before he asked his captors for anything.

The tall man took a drag and glared at him, exhaling the smoke through his nose.

"Don't play dumb, Spiegel. You and the dog are both worth millions. You had something Mao wanted. You think I'm the only one who saw it? What were you hiding? What did you have that the rest of us didn't?"

Spike chuckled darkly. In the corner, the bodyguard cleared his throat and touched the barrel of his pistol, but the tall man ceased his incessant pacing and stared at him.

"You think I had some kind of plan? Some kind of secret weapon?" Spike asked. He paused to cough, ignoring the stabs of pain in his stomach. "What do I get in return for telling you?"

The tall man emitted a violent bark of laughter, his eyes bulging. "What do you get? Why, I let you live, of course. I let you return to the Dragons under my command!"

Spike snorted. "Oh, so that's the fantasy you're cooking up. You tie me up, beg me for tips, and take over the dying syndicate? That's what this is all about?"

The tall man leapt onto the bed and wrapped his hands around Spike's throat. Gasping and choking, Spike threw blind punches everywhere he could land before the bodyguard swiftly crossed the room and yanked the tall man away.

"Boss! Boss! You told me we're gonna keep things under control! Shit, man, he was just about to talk! You gotta cool down!"

Spike massaged his windpipe, eyes watering and breath returning to normal. The tall man leaned against the wall, panting and groaning.

"He doesn't take me seriously! Fucking imbecile! I'll show him! Who's the one in charge here? I'm not messing around! Who's the one who killed Mateo? Don't underestimate me!" he screeched at the bodyguard, grasping his pistol so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Well, that clears that up," Spike rasped.

The tall man inhaled through his nose as the color drained from his face. He sank against the wall and closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them once more he was spookily calm.

"So. Spiegel. You were saying."

The curtains glowed orange as the setting sun illuminated the windows. Spike took a shaky breath.

"I never chose this life, you know. I didn't want this."

"But how did you rise so high, so fast?" the tall man asked bitterly, stubbing out his cigarette on the floor.

"I didn't. I was just a stupid kid when I joined. I did my time like the rest of you," Spike answered. "And I was friends with Vicious. Vicious was the one with ambition. You knew him, didn't you?"

The tall man nodded, staring at a spot on the wall. The bodyguard coughed. Absurdly, Spike almost smiled to himself, thinking of Vicious at fifteen, full of spirit. His friend. How that word had soured for him.

"And...Mao liked us. There's no secret. No bribery. He treated us like his sons. Even when Vicious began to plot behind his back..."

Spike wasn't sure why he was saying any of this. The tall man stayed rooted in place, and Spike took it as a good sign. Better keep talking, he figured.

"But why did you leave?" the tall man asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You had everything going...everyone respected you...we all wanted the assignments you were given, the praise, the respect...why leave, after all that?"

Spike cringed at the reverential tone in the tall man's voice. He had been like that once, full of admiration for the syndicate higher-ups. It all seemed so pointless to him now. All of that musty formality, the ancient rituals, the needless bloodshed.

"Well...in the end, I left because of a woman."

The tall man scoffed. "You would dare betray the Van and the syndicate over a mere woman? That was the reason for all of that? An ordinary woman?"

Spike smiled.

He saw Julia before him in a vivid burst of memory, her eyes shining the way they did when he kissed her for the first time under the streetlight. He could almost smell her citrusy perfume.

"She was no ordinary woman."

***

Jet walked into the lobby of the Hotel Ishtar at sundown. He whistled appreciatively as he passed a gleaming marble fountain in the courtyard. Graceful palm trees stretched up to the arched ceilings, and mysterious women hidden behind long veils glided by on the arms of swarthy men in linen suits.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled napkin covered in scrawled directions to the hotel. After recovering from the mouthful of dog-kebab earlier, he'd asked around the marketplace until he heard a rumor from a talkative vegetable salesman about a pair of men with a fat little dog spotted at a hotel.

Jet didn't want to get his hopes up, but he was feeling lucky. Maybe he could even relax and enjoy a cigar on the veranda later with all the money he would claim from this bounty. 14 million Woolongs would cover all of the Bebop's repairs and then some.

After ordering and downing a glass of strong rum, Jet turned up his collar and walked slowly through the hallways. His heavy footsteps echoed against the tile floor. He wasn't completely sure what he was looking for until he heard a distant yelp.

He froze and cupped his mechanical hand to his ear. After a few moments, another burbling yelp came from above him somewhere. Jet began to run towards the elevator.

***

Every time Faye closed her eyes for longer than a second, she started to drift off. She shook herself awake as she stood next to Ed on the hotel balcony, overlooking the courtyard and the marble fountain. Ed swayed like a flower in the evening breeze. The stars burned in the purple sky. Faye leaned against the railing and let the strength leave her limbs for a moment.

"Faye-Faye..." Ed mumbled.

"Ed, we can't go to bed yet, okay?" Faye muttered. "We have to keep looking for - "

"Faye-Faye, look over there!"

Faye groaned and continued to stare out over the courtyard, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"God damn it, Ed. Don't bug me right now, okay?" Her eyes hovered at half-mast again for a second before closing again. Ed tugged at her sleeve and pointed towards the hallway behind the balcony.

"Faye-Faye! What is Jet-person doing here?"

Faye's eyes snapped open as she jolted awake. She whipped around and stared as a very familiar backside disappeared into a doorway.

"Oh, _shit_ ," she hissed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Ed tried! You were sleeping! Ed was peeping!"

"Well, never mind!" Faye cried, breaking into a flat-footed sprint. "Follow me!"

***

Spike knew by now that they were on Venus. He could smell the sulphur coming through the air conditioning vents. Hours had passed since the last outburst, and night had fallen. The only light came from the occasional flick of a lighter as one of his captors lit a cigarette.

The tall man slouched against the wall, and Spike couldn't tell if he was awake or asleep. The bodyguard stood sentry at the door, but his eyes were bloodshot and his chin sported a dark shadow of stubble. Spike had been in that position before, waiting for a perp to talk for hours, days, weeks. Sometimes they never did. Sometimes you had to torture them first. Spike didn't like to think about those times.

Ein sat next to him, shaking the bed with his nervous panting. The ropes cut into Spike's swollen legs. His mouth was cracked from dehydration, and the wound in his stomach felt hot and inflamed and radiated pain from his ribcage to his legs.

Spike didn't give up easily. He wasn't a quitter. He had looked death in the eyes before. But he knew when he was in trouble. The tall man didn't know what he wanted from Spike, but he refused to let him leave without a showdown. And Spike was too weak to fight.

He had never wanted to die. Not really. Even after all of his drama and bluster back on the Bebop, he had always clutched onto his life when it really mattered, fiercely and resolutely. But maybe this was it. The one he wouldn't come back from.

Maybe he could be with Julia again...

Spike closed his eyes in despair.

 _Lunkhead_ , whispered a voice somewhere in his mind. He frowned.

Footsteps echoed somewhere outside, and Ein perked up his furry ears and let out a bleating yip.

"Shut up, you stupid mutt," the tall man growled. Ein cocked his head to listen and yelped again. The footsteps came closer and the tall man got to his feet stiffly, saying something under his breath to the bodyguard. Ein began to bark excitedly, hopping up and down on his short legs next to Spike. Just as the bodyguard drew his gun, the door flew open with a bang. The bodyguard fired off a wild shot that hit the floor with a metallic clang. The tall man threw himself against the bed, shielding Spike from view, as the intruder tumbled into the hotel room.

"Now hand over my dog, you assholes!" Jet shouted, pointing his gun at the bodyguard.

Right behind him, the door banged open again. Faye and Ed sprinted into the room and crashed into Jet's large back, knocking him off balance. Jet's finger smashed against the trigger of the gun and a shot ricocheted off of the ceiling, hitting the tall man in the back. Spike cried out in pain as the tall man's weight collapsed against him. The man's blood trickled onto Spike's arms, and he winced in disgust. Faye screamed and pushed Ed out of the way, and then everyone began to yell at once.

"What are YOU doing here?" Jet hollered as Faye hovered over Ed's small form.

"Jet-person!" screeched Ed from behind Faye's layers of scarves.

"Hand over the dog," Faye shrieked at the tall man, keeping one arm encircling Ed and pulling out her Glock with the other. "Let's make this nice and easy!"

"Um," Spike gasped from underneath the tall man's unconscious body, feeling as though his heart was about to burst out of his chest, "not to interrupt anything, but..."

Jet, Ed, Faye, and the bodyguard all whirled around to face him. Everyone froze.


	15. Under My Skin

XV: Under My Skin

"Spike?" breathed Faye, aghast. Spike felt a powerful rush of warmth as he looked up at her. She looked wild and rangy, bits of indigo hair poking out from under a peculiar headscarf. Her Glock shook in her small hands. "What...how did you get here?"

"Is that really the first thing you're gonna ask me, Faye?" Spike asked weakly. "Nice to see you too. Geez."

"Nice to see you too, lunkhead," Faye shot back, her chin trembling slightly.

"Christ almighty," Jet said, pale and shaken. He crossed the room and heaved the tall man's prone form onto the floor. "Son of a bitch. Is it really you? And Ed? Where the hell did you come from?"

Ed screeched happily and ran straight into Jet's knees, ricocheting off of them with a gleeful squeak. Jet leaned down and wrapped the little hacker in his enormous arms for a long moment before straightening up again, his eyes suspiciously bright.

"Are these syndicate men?" Faye asked hurriedly.

"Dragon scum," Spike replied bitterly. "I guess he knew me at some point. He tried to give me a shakedown but I didn't have much to tell him. His goon jumped me on Europa..."

"Spike-person!" Ed chirped, gazing at the ceiling dreamily. "Ed should have reactivated that tracking chip earlier so we could have found Spike-person sooner. Tracking chip, potato chip, chocolate chip, poker chip, yum yum yum..."

The bodyguard's eyes darted wildly between the four of them. He started to make a beeline for the door, and Faye blocked him in time and landed a punch to his temple. The bodyguard staggered from the blow and fell against the wall, moaning. Jet yanked a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and slapped them over the bodyguard's wrists, locking him to the iron bed frame.

"Oh, no you don't, you slime ball."

"Come on, man, I was just doing my job! I don't have anything against this guy!"

"That's not what it seemed like back on Europa," Spike growled from the bed.

Jet quickly released Ein from his makeshift leash and began to untie Spike's legs, ripping the ropes off swiftly.

"Can you stand?"

Spike tested his weight, wincing. "Yeah, I'll manage." He looked at the bodyguard disdainfully. "You really need a new job, you know. Your boss is an idiot."

The bodyguard nodded unhappily, prodding at the tall man's leg with his toe.

"Are you gonna turn me in?" he asked the group. Faye and Jet made wary eye contact for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, you're part of the bounty too," Jet said, pulling out his communicator. A fat ISSP cop's face filled the screen.

"Hey Theo, it's me. I picked up the bounty on the data dog and the kidnappers. Should I turn 'em in at the Venus station?" Jet asked. The onscreen cop exhaled with relief and gave him a thumbs-up.

"About time! We've had false reports coming in all day. Some guy showed up with a pig wearing puppy ears and tried to tell us that he'd found the corgi."

Jet chuckled grimly and closed the comm screen with a click before pocketing it. Ein danced joyfully between Spike's legs as he got to his feet unsteadily. Faye wrapped an arm around him and helped him stand.

"You smell like garlic," Spike wheezed into her ear. "Ouch!" he cried as she dug her elbow into his side, glaring at him. "They shot me somewhere around there. Haven't gotten a look at it yet."

"That creepy little slug," Faye muttered. Jet cast them a bemused look, petting Ed's red hair with his mechanical hand.

"You two certainly seem to be getting along," he remarked. Spike and Faye flushed in unison, and Jet gave an embarrassed cough and looked away. "Anyways," he continued, "I guess I'll take these guys into the station now and pick up my bounty, and then we can...uh...reconvene..."

He trailed off awkwardly. The tall man twitched on the floor, his blood seeping onto the tile, and they all looked down at him for a moment. Faye raised her eyebrows.

"Your bounty?"

"Really, Faye?" grumbled Spike, leaning heavily against her. "Is this the time?"

His face was pale, and beads of sweat gathered at his temples. Faye frowned.

"I came all the way from Europa for this, you know," she sighed. "Fine. _Fine_. Whatever. Jet, go ahead and take 'em in. Take Ed with you. I'll...stay with Spike."

"Ed wants to sleeeeeeeeeeep," the girl sang, sinking down onto the bloodstained mattress.

The fountain splashed outside. Distant chatter swelled and ebbed as crowds of people passed the hallway. The three adults stared at each other in the humid darkness, unsure how to act or what to say. The bodyguard slumped against his handcuffs and spat Martian curses under his breath.

Spike's pulse still pounded in his chest and throat after the sudden reappearance of his shipmates. Faye readjusted her grip on his waist and shifted her weight slightly.

"Well. Uh. Spike," Jet grunted after a pause. "Good to see you, kid."

Spike gave him a feeble pat on the back. "You too, old man."

"Care to explain what the hell has been going on for the past nine months?" Jet asked him quietly. He had a hard glint in his eyes. Faye watched, holding her breath. Tension crackled in the air, reminding Faye of the way electrical wires thrummed and buzzed in the old days, making your teeth vibrate. Ed began to snore from where she lay curled against the filthy bedspread. Spike grimaced.

"Do we have to do this right now?"

"Well, let's see," Jet growled. "You leave on a suicide mission. We assume you're sea rat bait. Faye almost loses her mind crying over you," - Faye glowered at him - "and then you have the nerve to contact me out of the blue when you're supposed to be dead. Faye goes looking for you, goes missing, and THEN you tell me Faye's been kidnapped by one of your syndicate thugs and needs a couple million in ransom. I bust my ass getting that arranged, show up at the casino that looks like a bomb hit it, and you and Faye are nowhere to be found. I figured you were both dead by that point. I show up here looking for the dog and now somehow you're both alive and well. Yeah, I'd say you two owe me an explanation," he finished, his voice rising angrily.

Faye rubbed her eyes distractedly, looking half-dead with fatigue.

"Look, I'm sorry, Jet, okay? It's... a long story. Shit," Spike croaked. His stomach throbbed with pain. "I haven't exactly been living it up over here, you know?"

Jet scoffed. "Me neither, pal. But here we are!"

"I didn't ask for anything like this to happen, okay? I've been trying to get as far away as possible from all of this bullshit! So give me a fucking break already!" Spike yelled, his temper flaring. Jet always managed to get under his skin. "I didn't ask for any of this!"

In an instant, Jet threw a walloping punch at Spike, his mechanical fist hitting Spike squarely in the right eye. Spike fell against the wall, too shocked to be angry. Jet had never hit him before. Faye screeched and ran between them.

"What is WRONG with you, Jet?! He's hurt!"

Jet stepped backwards, breathing hard.

"Sorry, kid, but you earned that one. Figured that eye could take it."

Spike glared at him, a purple bruise already blooming around his cybernetic eye.

Faye groaned. "Honestly. Men! Can't you two save this for later? He's waking up," she hissed, pointing at the man on the floor. She pushed Spike towards Jet, who caught him with a small noise of surprise. Faye knelt on the floor, pulling her gun from some indiscernible place within her dress. She pressed it firmly against the tall man's temple. He stirred and opened his eyes, gasping in pain.

"Morning, handsome," Faye said silkily. "Sleep well?"

The tall man focused his mud-colored eyes on her unsteadily.

"Julia?" he mumbled. "You're the dame?"

Faye scowled and dug the gun against his skin.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken. Name's Faye Valentine. Pleasure's all mine, I'm sure. Now do you want to explain what you've been doing here with my coworker?"

"Spiegel...has a debt to pay to the Dragons...was bringing him back...owed me..." the tall man whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head. Faye slapped him with her free hand.

"Hey! Wake up, asshole. How did you find him?"

"Mateo...tracking chip...after Tharsis," he said. "Followed him for months..."

A film of pink spittle trickled across his lips as he spoke, and his breathing grew labored. Faye and Jet both glanced up at Spike, who made a weary gesture.

"So you tracked him down? Why? What did you want from him? The syndicate's destroyed now, isn't it?"

The tall man shivered as a spasm of pain crossed his face.

"No! The Dragons will live on...just needed Spiegel to talk...explain...how he did it..."

"How he did what, exactly?" Faye asked curiously. Her gauzy dress stuck to her skin and her eyes glowed like a cat's in the darkness. In the corner, the bodyguard coughed.

"Just leave it, Faye," Spike murmured, watching her. "He's delusional."

"Hold on. How he did what?" Faye pressed, shaking the tall man's shoulders. He gulped in a tortured intake of air and licked his cracked lips.

"How he took over so quickly...why Mao trusted him...what his secret was..." he rasped, his lungs starting to rattle in his chest. Spike and Jet watched apprehensively. Faye swore under her breath and released him to the floor with a thud as he drew a final ragged gasp and grew still and pale. Bloody froth spilled from his gaping mouth.

"Ugh," Faye said, wrinkling her nose distastefully. "Ed, don't look."

Outside, running footsteps pounded in the hall, and they all looked toward the door. Ed awoke and raised her head, looking bedraggled.

The door burst open for the third time that night, and a pair of turbaned men sprang inside, rifles drawn. Faye, Spike, and Jet all threw their hands in the air, Faye and Jet quickly tossing their pistols to the ground. Spike stumbled against the wall as Jet released his grip on him. Ed screamed and Ein barked excitedly, running circles around the handcuffed bodyguard.

"Hands in the air!" shouted the first turbaned man, shouldering his rifle.

"They are!" cried Faye. "Don't shoot!"

Spike kept one arm braced against the tiled wall for support and held up the other. Jet grabbed Ed's upper arm and forced the girl behind him. The turbaned men flipped on the light switch, bathing the scene in harsh fluorescent light.

"There was a light switch the whole time?" Spike whispered, mostly to himself. "We really had to do all that in the dark?"

The guards looked between their faces in confusion before registering the corpse on the floor and the handcuffed bodyguard.

"Oh. Are you cowboys?" one of the guards asked hopefully, his voice thickly accented. "We were sent to remove these men from hotel, but it seems you have done our work for us."

"Yeah, we're bounty hunters," Jet replied. "I'll be taking them into the station in just a minute. Sorry for the disturbance."

"Ah, is no problem!" the other guard answered cheerfully. He wiped his brow in a relieved gesture and said something to his partner in another language.

"If you wait, we bring hotel staff. They will be happy. These men caused much trouble for hotel. They attacked housekeeper and we found their faces on security footage."

Spike whistled. "Man, these guys didn't have a clue what they were doing."

"Didn't have any trouble with you," the bodyguard remarked from the floor. Faye kicked him in the shin and he squealed in pain.

"Gee, thanks for defending my honor, Faye," Spike said. She blushed and muttered something. Jet gazed between the two of them, a puzzled look on his face. Spike could almost hear the gears turning in his head. _Oh well,_ he thought, _he'll figure it out at some point._

"Jet?" he asked. "Don't hit me again, but do you have any smokes?"

Jet started slightly and dug a pack out of his pocket, tossing him the carton and a Zippo lighter. Spike caught it deftly and lit a cigarette. He slumped against the wall, utterly spent.

***

The hotel staff was so pleased with their capture of the syndicate men that they had rewarded them with free hotel rooms (complete with balconies and room service) for five nights. Ed was so wiped out that she barely protested as Jet carried her into the room, set her in bed, and covered her in a blanket like a much younger child. Equally exhausted, Faye dragged Spike to a local doctor two blocks away to treat his wound while Jet set off to collect the bounty with Ein and the bodyguard in tow. The tall man's body was dumped unceremoniously into the trash incinerator by the hotel staff.

"Was very bad man," the mustachioed manager said soothingly to his horrified employees, dusting off his hands in satisfaction as they watched the machine emit belches of noxious smoke. "Poor Rashida had broken wrist and nose from this man. Is better this way, believe me."

It was very late, or perhaps very early, sometime between three or four in the morning. The shopkeepers had already returned to the quiet starlit streets to sweep the dust from their shopfronts and set up their tents before the intense desert sun rose once more. The bodyguard snuffled pitifully in his handcuffs as he trudged behind Jet, and Ein trotted dutifully alongside them as they neared the police station.

"Ein, don't take this personally," Jet began, feeling foolish, "but you're worth an awful lot of money, and, well..."

Ein cocked his head at Jet, fixing him with that intelligent chestnut gaze. Jet swallowed and looked away as they walked up the marble stairs of the police headquarters.

Three weary Venusian cops greeted Jet in the lobby. They dealt swiftly with the bodyguard, throwing him into a cell and pulling up his arrest warrant on their computers.

Jet sipped a cup of burnt coffee from the percolator and paced across the dirty carpet in the office, averting his eyes every time Ein sidled up against his legs with his wet, leathery nose.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," Jet told him. After a few minutes, the cops returned and pulled up the information on the data dog.

"Do you have your money card with you?" one of them asked as the other cop fastened a leash to Ein's collar and pulled him away. Ed whined and flattened his ears distrustfully. Jet felt a lump in his throat.

Think of all the repairs the Bebop needs. This is a good thing.

Jet presented his money card wordlessly and tried not to gasp as he watched the numbers flicker across the screen, raising his balance to a number he'd never even dreamed of. Millions more than he'd ever had. He could scrap the Bebop and buy a whole new ship, he could retire, he could do anything he wanted.

He thanked the cops and turned to leave, pretending he couldn't hear Ein's growling behind him. Damn dog. He'd caused them all so much trouble.

The dry desert air made his eyes water, he told himself. _Yeah. It's the dust._ Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he started to walk back to the hotel.

He made it ten feet before he pivoted on his heels and bolted back inside.

Faye and Spike walked back from the doctor's office as the sun was rising. The doctor had been quick and efficient, neatly stitching up his bullet wound and supplying him with a week's worth of strong painkillers. Spike would be sore, but otherwise fine.

The desert glowed pink as they walked. The terraformed islands of jungle floated high above them, drifting past like something out of a dream. Spike leaned on Faye, too tired to speak a single word. Faye gazed at the sky and occasionally cleared her throat. They returned to the hotel as the first beams of sunlight cast glowing squares against the courtyard walls, illuminating the tiles and clay in pools of gold.

"Well," Faye began as they reached the rooms. "Here we are. Do you...want company, or...?"

Spike closed his eyes and shook his head. "I just need to go to bed. I'll take this room."

A shadow of hurt crossed Faye's face, but she merely nodded and watched as he opened the door and slipped inside. She stood outside of his closed door for a moment, hearing the morning birds begin to sing, before she stepped inside her own room and collapsed into bed.

***

Spike awoke in the late afternoon, his side throbbing with pain. He reached for the bottle of painkillers on his nightstand and gulped down a few, running his hands through his snarled hair. His dreams had been full of various iterations of Fayes and Julias and Jets, all of them reproachful and upset with him for one reason or another. He yawned and got to his feet, pulling on a thick bathrobe from the closet. He walked over to the balcony and threw open the French doors.

The balcony overlooked the courtyard, and in spite of himself, Spike smiled. Venus was beautiful. Flowered trees bedecked with magenta blossoms surrounded a large fountain, and tanned people in long robes sat at small tables drinking wine and talking softly. In the distance, the turquoise sea shimmered against the brown desert. He turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of heat and cigar smoke and, although he could not have named it, jasmine. The latter reminded him of Faye all in a rush, of drinking in the scent of her in the rain on Europa.

He didn't know what to do anymore. When Faye had turned up last night, he felt a familiar kind of dread and sorrow intertwined with his relief. If he hadn't been sure of his feelings for her before they had found each other again in Tharsis City, he was more sure of them now than he had ever been of anything in his life.

Everything about Faye felt so profoundly right; all she had to do was cast her gaze his way and he was helpless. He was sure that she didn't realize the power that she held over him, and that made him want her all the more. He pictured her heart-shaped face, remembered the pressure of her sharp collarbone against his, the touch of her lips, the softness of her thighs and the way it felt to sink into her...His body reacted to the mere thought of it, a warmth building in the pit of his stomach, and he imagined finding her wherever she was in the hotel at the moment, pressing her against the wall, intertwining himself with her, lost in that jasmine perfume she wore...

For once, Spike just wanted to be a normal man.

But he wasn't, and he never would be. Even after escaping the syndicate twice, trouble followed Spike wherever he went. More importantly, danger hunted the people around him. He simply would not let one more thing happen to Faye. He wouldn't allow it. Underneath her sass and fire and sarcasm and armor and gambling and fistfights, Faye was just a young woman (albeit one with extraordinarily bad luck) who deserved to live a peaceful life. And that made the choice very clear to him. For once in his stupid life, he needed to be selfless.

But still. Good lord. How much more would the world demand of him?

The way she had looked at him before that first time on Europa. His body ached, remembering her voice...

_What are you waiting for, cowboy?_

The sun warmed his sore muscles. Stepping backwards a few feet until he was hidden by the open doors, he slipped a hand inside his robe and pretended that Faye was there with him until he was breathing hard.

***

The sun began to set as Faye woke up from her nap, bleary-eyed and disoriented. She took a luxurious bubble bath, pouring liberal amounts of strongly scented shampoos and oils into the scalding water. The hotel bathroom contained an intriguing array of makeup samples, and she passed a pleasant half-hour applying them all to her face, painting her eyes with black kajal to make them appear long and feline. She pulled on her new Venusian dress and padded out into the hallway in a cloud of perfume, knocking on the others' doors.

Ed and Jet emerged from their rooms, both puffy-eyed and tired. Faye's eyes widened as Ein appeared from behind Jet's legs, and he gave her a sheepish shrug.

"I couldn't just leave him here. They eat dogs on Venus, you know?"

"What about the bounty?" Faye asked in disbelief.

"Well...I, I just...uh...bought him back from the cops," Jet said in a very small voice. "They didn't seem to mind."

Faye rolled her eyes. At another time, the thought of all of those wasted Woolongs would have brought her to tears, but she couldn't quite muster up the energy to care tonight.

"Whatever. Your loss. I guess I don't mind the mutt." She glanced towards Spike's room. "Fuzzy head awake yet?"

"Haven't seen him."

Faye frowned and knocked again, but there was no response. She sighed and caught up to Jet and Ed as they walked towards the elevator and headed down to the courtyard for dinner.

They were seated at a table near the fountain covered in crisp white linen and glittering crystal ware. Now that it was dark, the flowering trees were lit by strands of yellow twinkle lights.

"Our honored guests," cried the manager, "who have eradicated the men who hurt our most precious Rashida! We will give you our finest tasting menu tonight!"

Faye and Jet crowed, rubbing their hands together. Ed twirled a strand of hair around her finger and snatched a piece of bread from a passing waiter.

While their wine was being poured, Spike ambled across the courtyard and pulled out a chair at their table. He wore a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up past the elbows, looking oddly young.

"Took you long enough," Jet told him. "I've never seen you late for a meal in your entire life."

"Yeah, well, I guess I missed the memo," Spike answered mildly, taking the piece of bread from Ed's limp hands as she stared up at one of the floating islands, entranced. He shoved the bread into his mouth and chewed. Faye tried to catch his eye, and he looked away.

The wine was going straight to Faye's head. She hadn't had anything to drink in a while, and it made her feel reckless and giddy. Grinning, she reached across the table to take Jet and Ed's hands, and they both stared at her as though she had grown an extra head. Spike smoked and tilted his chair backwards, raising his eyebrows at Jet but saying nothing.

"Are you feeling all right?" Jet asked, nonplussed. Faye only smiled wider at him. Ed yanked her hand away happily and began to draw on the tablecloth with a stolen crayon.

"I'm feeling great," she informed him, taking the wine bottle and refilling everyone's glasses. "Hey, Ed, have you ever tried Merlot?"

A little wine slopped onto the tablecloth as she poured a few fingers into Ed's empty water glass, staining the white linen a dark burgundy. It reminded her immediately of a bloodstain, and she gagged slightly and downed her glass. Spike became intently focused on cutting up a piece of his scallop, and Jet continued to look at her worriedly. Ed grabbed her glass and gulped it down, smacking her lips.

"Tastes like juice," Ed said dreamily, pouring herself another glass. Jet's protest died on his lips as Ed slurped her second glass, and he sighed heavily and rested his cheek in his hand.

The waiter brought them their third course (pasta with moon dust and shaved truffle) and they all groaned in delight.

"You should get kidnapped here more often, Spike," Faye told him. "This is great!"

Spike laughed humorlessly and lit another cigarette. "I'll keep that in mind next time."

Jet watched their exchange curiously. Ed leaned her head against the table, her cheeks bright pink.

After their dessert of hibiscus ice cream was served, Ed collapsed face-first into her after-dinner mint tray and began to snore.

"You've really gone and done it now, Faye. She's trashed. How old is she? Fourteen?" Jet asked, scooping up the hacker and shouldering her like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh, she's old enough for a glass of wine," Faye said cheerfully, waving a hand vaguely. "I was getting drunk at her age. Or I think I was, at least!" She looked at Spike again, and he gave her an impassive look, his eyes shaded in the twilight.

"Think I'll get another drink," he said, standing and stretching his long arms overhead. "See you guys later."

Jet raised a hand in farewell, walking away with Ed as she snored blissfully. Faye crossed her arms and stared at Spike's retreating back.

***

Spike sat at the bar, mildly buzzed from the clouds of hookah billowing around him. Two women next to him were playing some variant of mahjong, the tiles clacking pleasantly against the wooden bar top. He stared into the dregs of his martini, dark thoughts vying for attention in his mind. He had always been a melancholy drunk.

Jasmine wafted towards him, and he turned his head. Faye was noisily pulling up a stool beside him, her eyes glittering in a dangerous way.

"Hey, Gaujo," she said, smoothing the front of her dress and catching the bartender's eye.

"Hey, Romani," he replied lightly. His already crumbling resolve took another hit at the use of their old nicknames. Focus, he told himself. This is for her own good.

Faye peered over at him. "Whatcha drinking? Martinis? Two more, please," she called to the bartender. "Vodka. Filthy."

Spike angled himself away from her. He could feel the warmth of her skin even from here.

"So what's your problem?" she asked frankly, leaning closer. "Sick of me already?"

He shook his head. Clenched his teeth together. She watched him carefully, her cheeks red from the wine.

"No..." he said softly, "it's just...I don't think that..."

"What?" she said fiercely. "That I'm not Julia? That you'll never love me? I could never compare? Just rip off the band-aid already, Spike, just spit it out."

Spike did not know what a band-aid was. He kept that fact to himself. Their drinks arrived, and Spike drank half of his in one sip, pushing aside the olive-covered toothpick with his tongue clumsily.

"No. Faye. Listen. I just...I think it's...better if we end this now. For you."

Faye plucked an olive out of her drink and chewed it furiously.

"Oh, you do, do you? Two good fucks and you've had enough of me?"

Spike winced. "Jesus, Faye."

"Well, what is it, then?" she demanded, her voice rising as she finished her drink and gestured toward the bartender to bring another round. The mahjong ladies glanced at her.

Spike pressed his thumbs against his fingers to steady himself. He wasn't tipsy, exactly, but he seemed to be having a hard time articulating his thoughts. Strange music began to drift from a stage in the lobby, and people cloaked in scarves and robes kept brushing behind them in a breeze of colognes and cooking smells.

"Faye, you've seen what happens when you hang around with me." He paused. "I'm not normal. Life in the Dragons means that you will either live out your life in the syndicate, or die a traitor. Maybe not right when you leave, but eventually. I'm just...living on borrowed time."

Faye sucked on an olive pit and tilted her head closer to him. The music swelled around them. He could see a sliver of her smooth thigh every time she moved, the fabric of her floaty dress slipping off of her silky skin.

"And one of these days, someone would figure out what you...what you are to me. Someone already did, in fact. Chuck in Tharsis City. And you've seen what these people are like, Faye, they're brutal. They'll kill you just as soon as look at you."

Faye scowled. "Are you saying I can't look after myself? That I'm a liability to you?"

Spike shook his head emphatically, the motion making him feel sick.

"No. That's not in at all. Just the opposite, actually." He pulled out a cigarette, more to have something to do with his shaky hands than to smoke it. He jammed it into his mouth, unlit, and chewed the end for a moment, searching for the easiest way to deal the final blow. Just as he got the words straight in his mind, she snatched the cigarette from between his lips and plunged her hand into his pocket, fingers fumbling for his lighter. Her hand brushed his boxers, and his breath caught in his throat, but she only retrieved the lighter and lit her cigarette, blowing smoke up towards the tapestry-covered ceiling. A cold smile played around the corners of her mouth, and Spike watched, feeling befuddled.

"I see what this is, Spike," she said, running one hand along her sharp jawline as she smoked. "I see it now."

"Do you?" he asked around the lump in his throat. She recrossed her legs on her barstool, and Spike glimpsed her lacy underwear for a second and began to sweat.

"Yeah, Spike, I've got your number now. This is the part where I'm supposed to beg and plead and cry so you'll stay with me, right?" She smirked. "But I won't. I won't do that again."

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling like an ice cube had slid into his stomach. "That's not it at all, Faye, I promise..."

She laughed mirthlessly, tapping ash off of the end of her cigarette.

"Please, Spike, I'm a big girl. We can skip this act."

Her voice was cavalier and her eyes hard, but Spike heard a faint quaver in her voice.

"Faye, you've got it wrong. Please, baby - "

"You don't get to call me that!" Faye interjected, her eyes shining with tears. "Not if you're leaving me again! You don't get to call me that!"

Spike leaned his head against his hands. This wasn't going the way he had hoped. People around them were starting to stare.

"If you're leaving, just go. And stay gone this time!" she said, lowering her voice to an enraged hiss. "I won't come rescue you this time! You can just _die_ for all I care!" she spat, her voice breaking. She raised her martini to her lips and took an angry gulp. "Just go, Spike."

Spike sat frozen. He reached out his hand for his martini, but Faye snatched his glass away and drank it too. That seemed fair. They sat in silence amongst the noisy crowd for a few minutes, Spike feeling like a bonafide, grade-A asshole. He just wanted her to be safe. It was only because he loved her. If only she could understand that...

"What do you want, Spike?" Faye asked suddenly. She turned and placed a hand on his thigh, and he quivered with electric need. "What do you _really_ want? I don't care if you think this is the noble thing to do, or whatever crap is running through your head. What do you want?"

Her eyes were so green. Her lips, close enough to touch, looked so soft. So inviting. Her perfume invaded his every thought. The porcelain skin of her delicate shoulders looked golden in the dim light.

"I..."

Spike stopped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He could only bear so much. He was just a man, after all.

She waited, and he opened his eyes.

"I want you," he admitted in a shaky voice, raising his hand to drag a thumb across her parted lips. She drew in a sharp breath and reached up to take his hand away from her mouth, holding it tight.

"Then prove it," she whispered.

***

Faye could barely wait until the elevator arrived, and they tumbled inside it the minute the doors purred open. Spike kissed her hungrily, pinning her against the mirror on the wall. The door opened on the 7th floor with a ding, and they broke apart with a nervous laugh as an old woman tottered in, humming to herself and reeking of cigar smoke. Faye giggled and Spike ran his hands across her back.

Once they reached their floor, Spike grasped her hand and led her forward. The hallway was dark, and they reached her room in a blur of candlelight. Spike found her keycard in her pocket and opened the door. Once they were inside, Faye perched on the bed and Spike followed her, balancing his weight with one knee on the bed and one on the floor, caressing her neck and shoulders and mouth. She fumbled for his belt with one hand, tugging at his hair with her other. She managed to get his buckle partially unhooked before he lost patience and ripped it off himself, kicking off his trousers and kneeling both legs onto the bed. She leaned back, pulling him with her and finding his mouth for a long kiss, blindly unbuttoning his shirt and ripping off a few buttons in the process. Faye's head spun and she laughed, almost delirious. Spike paused and pulled away.

"What's so funny?" he said, his voice husky.

"We're both covered in stitches," she murmured. "We're both full of gunshot holes."

He laughed and touched his most recent wound.

"I don't even feel it at this point," he said, shrugging. Faye laughed again and reached down to slip a cool hand into his boxers. He shuddered and leaned down to run his tongue along her neck, pushing aside her gauzy dress and running his hands across her chest. He kissed her collarbone, her stomach, gradually working his way down until his hair tickled her thighs. The tightness and the fireworks threatened to spill over in her almost immediately. She moaned and placed a hand against his cheek, pulling him back up towards her face. He lowered his lean body over hers once more, and when she kissed him, she tasted herself on his tongue. She guided his body until they were together, his long legs wrapping around hers.

Before, they had been slow and deliberate. This time was different. Spike held her to him as though she might vanish into thin air. She bit into his shoulder, kissed his earlobe, forced herself to wait just a little longer, just a bit more...

Tears welled up in her eyes and she buried her face in Spike's shoulder. He hummed low in his throat as his body began to tremble. He shook as though he had been electrocuted, and just before he slumped against her, she felt her own body surrender to the release, and she cried out.

They lay in the darkness, their breathing slowing. Faye could still hear the band playing in the lobby far below them, the music faint but unmistakable. Spike lit two cigarettes and passed one to Faye, but she waved it away.

"Are you serious?" he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. "I've never seen you turn down a cigarette."

She willed the tears to dry and gave him a small smile.

"You're still going to leave, aren't you?" she asked.

Spike put his cigarette in the ashtray, saying nothing. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, his eyes closed. She could feel his heartbeat as she gazed at the French doors and the starry sky beyond them. Her own eyelids began to lower, and he stroked her hair slowly.

Faye meant to ask him again, wanted to get a straight answer out of him, but before she could do any of that, sleep overtook her.


	16. It Might As Well Be Spring

**author's note: Well...this is the last chapter of this story. I had such a wonderful time writing this that I'm not ready to say goodbye to the characters...in fact, I've already started a new CB fanfic, called "You Want It Darker". stay tuned this week for the first chapter! thank you SO much to everyone who commented, and for sticking with the story to the very end.**

**without further ado, I hope you like the last installment...**

**XVI: It Might As Well Be Spring**

The harsh Venus sun would rise soon, but for now, the world was quiet and still.

Faye opened her eyes to the cool blue glow of dawn. The only sounds were the faint chatter of songbirds and Spike's slow breathing. Rolling over, she gazed at Spike's sleeping face. In the soft morning light, he looked almost childlike.

She reached out and cupped his face, trying to memorize everything about him; his smoky sweet smell, the feel of his smooth skin, the long angular lines of his body, the way his eyelashes cast tiny spidery shadows on his cheeks.

"Don't go," she said, very softly.

Spike opened his eyes.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, dragging a hand across his face and yawning. He reached for her sleepily, weaving his strong arm around her waist and pulling her close. Faye pressed her face into his neck.

"Are you leaving today?" she asked, her eyes closed as she breathed him in.

Spike said nothing. Faye waited, wishing she couldn't feel the bubble of foolish hope swelling inside of her chest.

"I..."

He stopped, staring out through the window. The first stripes of daylight appeared on the horizon as he spoke again.

"I guess so."

Faye's bubble deflated. Abruptly, she pushed him away and slid out of bed, reaching for a bathrobe and a cigarette. Spike watched her, his face inscrutable as he propped an arm behind his head.

"Do you hate me?" he asked her gently. "I'd understand if you do."

Faye couldn't meet his eyes.

***

Spike closed the door to Faye's room quietly as he stepped out into the hallway, his shirt buttoned up wrong and his tie stuffed into his pocket. He wanted to make it back to his room without bumping into anyone, especially not -

"Spike?"

He cursed inwardly as he turned to face Jet.

"Yo," Spike offered, attempting a nonchalant grin. It came out more like a grimace. He felt Jet's eyes travel over his unshaven face and unbuttoned shirt before arriving on the placard on the door that read _Honored Guest Miss Valentine_ in flowery cursive.

"I was going to ask if you wanted breakfast," Jet began, running his mechanical hand over his head, "but, uh..."

"Sure," Spike answered, not meeting Jet's curious eyes. "I was just borrowing a..." he trailed off, wracking his brain for inspiration, "a...uh, tie. From Faye," he finished, fishing the wadded-up tie out of his pocket. Jet raised his eyebrows.

"A tie. Huh."

"Mmm," Spike replied lightly.

Jet grunted and looked away pointedly as he started to amble away, motioning for Spike to walk with him. Spike exhaled and followed him, checking his pocket for his Jericho and scanning the faces of everyone they passed.

He couldn't shake his paranoia, even though he knew the tall man was dead. Who else was lurking in the shadows?

The two men sat at the same table in the courtyard as the night before. They ordered bitter Venusian coffee and flaky almond croissants. The sun was already strong enough to make Spike break out into a sweat beneath his thin cotton shirt, and Jet's bald head glistened with sunburn, glowing as pink as the brilliantly colored flowering trees all around them.

"Listen," Jet said suddenly, startling Spike as he poured himself a third cup of coffee. Jet put down the croissant he was holding, looking wildly uncomfortable. Spike braced himself.

"It's none of my business what you do with Faye, and I certainly don't want to hear about it, but you should know that she's been through the wringer," Jet continued. Spike swallowed a mouthful of coffee and sighed.

"I'm not planning on - " Spike began, but Jet held up a hand to silence him.

"Like I said. I don't care to hear any - and I mean _any_ \- details. Lord knows I've wondered long enough when you two would finally get it out of your system. All I'm saying is that Faye's a different woman that the one you knew, Spike. She's not as tough as she'll lead you to believe."

Spike wiped sweat from his brow with a linen napkin and waited for Jet to continue, but he seemed to be finished for the moment.

"I hear you, old man," Spike said, wondering how many unpleasant conversations one day could hold. The heat and the hangover made him edgy and tired, and he didn't like being in the open like this. Jet noticed him shifting around in his seat and gave him a look as he buttered another croissant.

"Where's the Bebop?" Spike asked to change the subject, lighting a cigarette and passing one to Jet.

"Oh, docked in the river," Jet said, taking a deep inhale. "She barely made it. Figured you could help me with a few repairs before we head out. We'll leave late, around midnight, so there's no traffic. You and Faye can take Ed later and run some errands for me. There's a parts shop in the south marketplace that looks okay."

Spike took a drag of his cigarette and looked away.

"Don't know that I'll be coming with you."

"Uh huh. Faye know that?"

Spike's face told Jet all he needed to know.

"Thought you were a better man than that, kid."

Jet paused and stubbed out his cigarette. A rocket flew above the courtyard, drowning out the chatter of the tables around them with its low droning.

"I'm not saying this because I feel sorry for her, or because I'm jealous of you."

"I never said that - " Spike interjected, but Jet cut him off again, his voice uncharacteristically grave.

"Just listen to me. After you left, things were different. It was only the two of us. Understand?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Another rocket droned overhead, and Spike's pulse quickened. Were they being watched?

"Stop looking so damn jumpy, would you?" Jet snapped. "You're making me nervous."

"Easy for you to say," Spike retorted.

"How's that?"

"I don't _want_ to go. But as long as I'm around, none of you are safe. You, Faye, Ed...even the damn dog. I'm a marked man as long as I live." Spike exhaled in frustration. "There will always be some leftover Dragons or Tigers or whoever the fuck else around with a price on my head. I have to leave, Jet."

Jet shook his head in amazement.

"This again. You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

Jet tapped his fingers on the table. "It was Miles Davis, I think. Or maybe Goethe?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, at any rate, whoever it was, what they said was: if you have to ask, you'll never know."

"Never know _what_?" Spike repeated, raising his voice, but before Jet could explain, Ed and Ein came sprinting around the corner.

"Jet-person! Spike-person! Ed's head hurts from the grape juice! But Ed saw a LIZARD in her room," the girl shrieked as Ein gamboled underfoot, vacuuming croissant crumbs from the sunbaked ground. "Where's Faye-Faye?"

"Not sure," Jet said as Ed spun in circles. "Why don't you go find her, Spike?"

"You ever had a prairie oyster, Ed?" Spike asked, ignoring Jet. "It'll help that hangover. I'll get the bartender - "

"Ooooh! Ed has a hangover? Red rover, red rover, Ed's hanging over..." she babbled while Jet glared at Spike.

"The last thing she needs is liquor! Go find Faye already. We have work to do."

***

Faye wandered through the marketplace in the early afternoon. She noticed that the vendors and street hawkers seemed to be preparing for some kind of festivities; everyone was putting out brightly colored posters and donning robes adorned with sparkling gold threads and vibrant brocade patterns.

The sun was intense, and she ducked down a narrow stone alleyway to escape the heat. Yellowed clay tiles arched overhead, creating a patch of cool shade where she rested for a moment, leaning against the dusty walls. A small iron gate a few feet away caught her eye, and she peered through it curiously.

What she saw took her breath away: a secret garden tucked away in a walled courtyard, brimming with tropical plants and dotted with turquoise ponds. It was deserted, and the gate swung open when she pushed. She sidled inside and stared around in wonder.

She could just barely hear the commotion of the marketplace from here. Sinking down onto the mossy ground, she let her mind go completely blank as she stared up at the thick canopy of intermingled vines and flowers and branches.

Where would she go from here?

_They often say that humans can't live alone. But you can live pretty well by yourself. Instead of feeling alone in a group, it's better to be alone in your solitude._

If you tell yourself something enough times, you can almost start to believe it. That's what Faye had tried to do, all those months ago, with Gren. It was bullshit, she realized now, plucking a leaf off of a nearby shrub and crushing it between her fingers, breathing in the sharp minty scent it produced. She needed comrades.

But as she lay on the cool moss, the thought of returning to the Bebop with Jet and Ed, without Spike, seemed impossible to her. The idea of walking through the ship's metal corridors, passing his empty room, knowing he was out there alive and well and choosing not to return...it was unbearable, and Jet would see right through her. Either they would have to forget he ever existed and carry on, or they would have to acknowledge his absence. And that would be more than she could stand, now that she had tasted his lips and slept in his arms and whispered to him in the middle of the night, all the things she had only imagined in dreams in the past.

She could run away and start over as Poker Alice, she thought, feeling weary at the very notion. Or perhaps she could get some normal, legal, boring type of job somewhere out in one of the far-flung moons where she hadn't yet wracked up any debt. Maybe she could join a convent, she thought with a wry grin, idly ripping up blades of grass.

Faye's eyelids flickered. The glittering ponds emitted a quiet burbling, and it made her drowsy.

She was walking down a shadowy hallway, following the sounds of familiar voices from just around the corner. Spike's gravelly laugh rang out, echoing against the walls, and although she couldn't make out the words just yet, she heard two other voices, a man's and a woman's, intermingled. Moving faster, she reached a doorway at the end of the hallway, and she wrenched it open excitedly.

Her mother and father sat on a balcony with Spike, the three of them overlooking the ocean. For a brief moment, they all turned and looked at her, their faces expectant. Just as she ran across the threshold to join them, her heart bursting with happiness, the ocean rose up and swallowed the balcony, dark and roiling and frightening.

Faye awoke with a splutter to cold raindrops landing on her face. She sat up, disoriented, and slowly brushed her hair out of her eyes.

***

It was late in the afternoon. Spike wanted to go on a walk to gather his thoughts before leaving, but before he was ten feet away from the hotel the skies opened with a peal of thunder. Sheets of rain began to pour down on the dusty city. Swearing, he darted under the covered walkway in front of the hotel and shook his head like a dog. He was met by a indignant shriek, and he turned in surprise to see Faye behind him, completely soaked.

"Thanks a _lot_ ," she hissed, brushing past him roughly.

Spike made an odd strangled noise, feeling blindsided by the way her dress was clinging to her skin. The wet fabric, almost transparent, revealed every curve and crevice of her body. Faye slammed the door shut behind her before he could gather his thoughts.

He stood motionless for a while, dripping onto the tiled floor and feeling sorry for himself. After a few moments, he pulled out his cigarettes, only to find them soggy and ruined.

It was always raining, wasn't it?

***

The skies cleared around sunset. Jet walked to the parts shop and bought everything he could afford for the Bebop's repairs. He couldn't fix everything, but it was enough to get her off the ground, at least.

When he got back to the hotel, he met up with Faye and Ed. They walked down to the courtyard and sat in their usual spot, Ein snoozing under the table. Jet ordered beers for himself and Faye and a milkshake for Ed, who drank it in two gigantic gulps and set to work climbing a palm tree. Faye looked small and sad as she hunched over her glass.

"So we'll leave around midnight tonight," Jet said gruffly. "Meet down here around 11:30 and we'll walk to the port. There's a bounty out by Saturn. 3 million Woolong. Hackers messing with the Martian banks. Ed's already done some recon."

Faye nodded blankly and stared at the setting sun.

"Fine with me."

Jet finished his second beer and leaned across the table. Hotel staff flitted around them, decorating the courtyard with banners in a strange language and putting up colorful streamers. Ed had reached the top of the palm tree and hung upside down by her knees, grinning as the blood rushed to her head and turned her face the same color as her fiery hair.

"You know, Faye, you don't have to come with me," Jet said in a low voice. "You can stay here with - "

Faye shot him a poisonous glare.

"With Spike," Jet continued gamely, "because I'd prefer if you didn't come back onto the ship and just lie around and mope for the rest of your life."

"Who said anything about moping?" Faye spat. "Who said I want anything to do with that lunkhead?"

"Ah, you two aren't kidding anyone. All I'm saying is, you're both idiots if you don't figure this out. Life is short. I'll see you tonight," Jet finished calmly, standing to leave as Faye spluttered with rage.

***

Spike stood in his hotel room, jamming a few things into a backpack. He had stripped out of his sodden suit and wore only his boxers, shivering a little. His gunshot wound was healing quickly, but he felt shaky and sick. The raging headache from his martini hangover didn't help, either.

He opened the French doors to let some fresh air into the room while he wadded up his wet clothes and gathered up some stolen toiletries. After the afternoon's rainstorm, the air smelled earthy and sweet. Evening had fallen, and the sounds of the night market vendors setting up their stands drifted in through the open door. Every small noise made him jump and fumble at his belt for his Jericho.

Where Spike would go from here, he didn't know. Wherever he went, he would have to lay low. He could find Doohan on Earth, he supposed, and ask to work as his apprentice. Or he could work independently as a bounty hunter somewhere, although solo work was slow and difficult. Maybe he could teach Jeet Kune Do in a studio. Did things like that even exist anymore? He'd only seen that in old movies. The thought of dealing with noisy, snotty, non-genius-hacker kids made his headache even worse, and he groaned and collapsed onto the bed.

But memories unspooled like film in his mind: Faye tied up in the closet, Faye bleeding on the ground in Europa, Faye unconscious in the hospital. Annie, her face agonized as she clutched her stomach in the store. Julia falling on the rooftop as he watched, frozen. Julia, searching his face for answers, her eyes questioning and confused before she closed them forever. Vicious, mangled and dead.

The choice wasn't up to him. They would find him again, whether in a day or a decade, and they would find his friends, and they would find Faye and kill her, and then how could he go on?

As Spike stared at the ceiling, he heard a distant crackling sound. He froze and sat upright, listening intently.

They were here already.

The sound came closer, growing deafeningly loud. A rush of icy adrenaline shot through his body. Grenades. He would know that sound anywhere.

How had he let his guard down again, so swiftly? How could he ever think he was safe?

Spike grabbed his Jericho and leapt from the bed. He bolted out of his room and down the hallway, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He needed to find the others, he needed to tell them to run, to hide, to escape...

A small part of his mind registered the strangeness of the deserted hotel, but he ran and ran, reaching the empty lobby and searching wildly for his shipmates. The explosions sounded as though they were directly outside now, making his teeth rattle in his head. Was it possible the Dragons had _bombs_ now? He darted outside frantically, and plunged straight into an enormous crowd of people on the street.

***

Faye stood beside Jet and Ed in the throng of Venusians. It was almost midnight, but the market was so crowded for the night's celebrations that there was no point in trying to reach the port until the party had died down. They had left Ed in Jet's hotel room, to spare him from the noise.

Ed couldn't see over the heads of the adults, so Jet scooped her up and placed her on his wide shoulders. Waiters kept passing out flutes of champagne, and Faye drank greedily until her head started to buzz.

"What's all this for, anyways?" Faye called over the roar of the crowd to Jet, who merely shrugged, causing Ed to slide backwards and hoot. She clung to Jet's neck and repositioned herself as Jet gasped for air.

"It's New Year's Eve, Faye-Faaaaaaye!" Ed shrieked happily. Faye frowned.

"What? Really? But it's only November."

"Venusian days work differently. Calendar is all wonky!"

"Oh," Faye said, not understanding. "I...guess that makes sense. Say, Ed, can you speak Venusian?"

"Of course," Ed replied, patting Jet's bald head like a bongo drum. "Can't you? Look look! They're starting!"

An excited swell of chatter swept through the crowd, and they heard the sounds of loud, low explosions from far away.

"I can't see anything," Faye remarked, grabbing another flute of champagne from a passing waiter. A band somewhere in the crowd struck up a bizarre, frenetic tune, replete with cowbell clangs and wailing horns.

"Must be coming from the port," Jet called over to her. They kept getting jostled and pushed by the lively throng around them, and the air was rich with the smells of perfume and garlic and cigar smoke.

The explosions and music and chatter grew louder. Suddenly, several women standing behind Faye screamed, and she and Jet both whirled around, guns drawn.

Spike stood surrounded by frightened Venusians, wild-eyed and panting, clutching his Jericho and shouting something, barefoot and wearing nothing but a pair of moth-eaten boxers.

"You need to _run_ ," he yelled, "come on, get back in the hotel, they're here! They've got something bigger than grenades, come on! Hurry up!"

Jet, incomprehensibly, burst into laughter, but Faye stood with her Glock hanging at her side, perplexed.

"What," Faye began, shouting over the laughter and shrieks of the crowd, "the HELL," she continued, "is WRONG with you? What are you _doing_?"

A cheer went up in the crowd, and they all spun around towards the street. The night sky erupted in technicolored sparkles, blue and green and yellow and orange. A fiery crimson dragon leapt across the heavens for a brief moment before dissolving into smoke.

"It's fireworks, you idiot," Faye shrieked, fighting back laughter. "It's New Year's Eve!"

"What? No, it's not!" Spike yelled back at her as Jet howled with laughter and slapped his knees. Ed hung onto Jet's shoulders for dear life. "It's only November!"

"Well, it is on fucking Venus!" Faye started to laugh, drinking another glass of champagne in a single gulp. "You've lost your mind!"

Spike stood slack-jawed and seemed to come to his senses, glancing down at his boxers and blushing a deep burgundy. Thankfully, the throngs of people around them had already lost interest in the scene, distracted by the fireworks and the platters of free food being distributed.

The four of them stood gazing at the sky in awe. As the final rainbow splatter rocketed across the horizon, the crowd let out a final cheer before quieting down, the smell of smoke heavy in the cool air.

"Well," Jet began, "I'll head down to the port and fire up the Bebop. You coming, Faye? Figure we'll leave around dawn at this rate."

Faye nodded curtly, and Jet turned to Spike.

"You coming too?"

"I don't..." Spike began, but Jet only clapped a hand on his bare shoulder and turned to go.

"Spike-person is leaving?" Ed sang out over Jet's head as they walked away through the dissipating crowd. "Why?"

Spike merely raised a hand in farewell.

"You made quite a spectacle of yourself," Faye told him as they walked back inside.

"How was I supposed to know it was New Year's Eve?" he muttered. "Venusians and Martians are different, everyone knows that."

"How would I know?" Faye replied, laughing a little. "I'm from Earth. And, you know, Spike, there's something you're supposed to do on New Year's Eve. For good luck in the coming year."

Spike scowled. "Holidays are stupid. Superstitions are for old ladies. And I don't know why you, of all people, would believe in luck, what with your horse racing history..."

They reached the elevator, Spike continuing to grumble, and once the doors dinged shut Faye silenced him by pressing herself against him and kissing him. She felt his breath hitch in his chest, and he kissed her back, slowly, before pulling away.

"Faye..." he started, but Faye waved a hand at him and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shut up," she said, and she kissed him again.

***

The universe is full of bitter disappointments. You lose bets. Lovers leave you. Life is short, cruel, and senseless. Beautiful girls are frozen for decades. You get parking tickets, and run out of money, and eat nothing but bell peppers for weeks on end. Friends betray you. You wander the galaxy for years and still never find what you're looking for. In the end, no matter how far you run or how hard you fight, death comes for everyone you've ever loved.

Spike stood on the balcony of the hotel room, smoking and watching the horizon. It was almost sunrise, but the sky was still an inky black. In the distance, tiny bursts of fireworks erupted sporadically as the last faraway cities celebrated the new year. Faye was inside, clad in a silky robe and dozing in bed.

Spike had died too many times to count. His life was a rich tapestry of failures and heartache. His body burned with injuries and scars, both tangible and unseen. The ghosts of his dead whispered to him constantly. It would be easy to give in to the darkness, to sink down into blissful oblivion, to never let his heart thump or hurt or break again.

And yet...

He watched Faye stir and rise from the bed, sleepy-eyed, and tuck her hair behind her ears in a gesture he loved.

Spike wanted to carry on. To laugh in the face of sorrow.

Death meant nothing. Somewhere out there, he was still with Julia, brushing her golden hair away from her face as they stood in the wind, the day they snuck away and drove to the ocean together. She would turn to him and smile, the waves reflecting in her clear eyes. Somewhere, he was still walking with his arm slung around Vicious's bony shoulders, tipsy and laughing as they meandered home from the bar, freshly 19 and on top of the world before everything had gone so terribly wrong. And a part of him would always stay at the campsite in Europa, lying next to Faye under a sky full of moons, his heart breaking and mending all at once.

Occasionally, walking home late at night, he would search for shooting stars. If he got drunk enough, he could almost convince himself that they were a secret message from Julia. A little wink from beyond. He knew that it wasn't true, that they were just flaming chunks of space rock, but sometimes...

He sighed and ground out his cigarette under his shoe. Inside, he saw Faye's silhouette through the filmy curtains. A light breeze whispered through the fabric. He watched as she poured herself a glass of wine from the crystal decanter. Her satin robe had slipped off of one shoulder, revealing her delicate collarbone. Her pale skin glowed in the candlelight.

Spike craned his neck upwards. The sky was splattered with bright stars, and he waited for a few minutes, hoping for a comet.

"Spike?"

He turned. Faye stood at the balcony door, her eyes large and liquid in the starlight.

"Hey," he said softly. He reached out and trailed his fingers through her dark hair, his hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck. 

"Everything okay?" she asked.

Spike glanced at the sky once more. The stars remained frozen in place.

He looked back at Faye. She met his eyes steadily, smiling a little.

"Just looking. But Jet's waiting. Let's get ready."


End file.
